Nicotine
by WaywardSoulCreation
Summary: She runs from mystery. He runs to it. Her demons haunt her everyday. She's one that he can't figure out. She has his attention. She's addictive like nicotine. "It's better to burn than to fade away It's better to leave than to be replaced I'm losing to you, baby, I'm no match I'm going numb, I've been hijacked It's a fucking drag"
1. Chapter 1

I drum my fingers lightly on the dark denim covering my knee as Molly prattles on about something that is new and exciting in her life. I watch her, feigning interest as my mind wanders. My eyes slide off to her left as I make accidental eye contact with the barista behind her.

"Delta!" Molly half shouts, dragging my attention back to her.

"Sorry, I got distracted…"I say with a meek look in her direction. "So about this Sherlock person, has he yet to notice you Molls?" I ask, resting my free hand under my chin.

"Not really. I'm beginning to think it's hopeless." She replies.

"I have half a mind to walk into St. Bart's and ask him what the hell does he think he's doing. Overlooking a perfectly wonderful young lady such as yourself." I respond with a venomous tone.

"Delta please don't. He might not even be worth it…" She says as she takes a swift glance behind her back at the barista and gives him a bright smile.

"He's definitely into Molls." I whisper to her as her phone pings.

"It's Sherlock…. He needs my help. Do you mind?" She asks me.

"Only if I can tag along and meet this infamous Sherlock. I practically know him already from what you've told me about him and his _dreamy_ eyes." I respond with a smirk as I grab my coat and follow her out.

The morgue at St. Bart's smells overly sterile when Molly leads me in and I scrunch up my nose. I hadn't been in a morgue in quite a few years now. I trail behind her as she leads me into a room whose only living inhabitant is a remarkably tall man. I stop just inside the threshold and lean against the door jamb, I miss it by a couple of centimeters and stumble a little, regaining my balance I stand there to observe Molly around who I can only assume to be Sherlock himself.

"Hello Sherlock." Molly says brightly as I begin to check my nail beds out of sheer boredom. I glance up after a few seconds of silence and find Sherlock staring at me

"Have I got something on me?" I ask and look down at my remarkably clean coat.

"Who are you?" He asks rather rudely.

"Delta Hudson. Pleasure to make your acquaintance." I reply in a pseudo-energetic tone. I shove my glasses up the bridge of my nose and back into their place. "I'll leave you two to do whatever it is you needed Molly for." I say and turn to head back through the door of the morgue. My shoulder slams harshly into the door frame as I pass through. Once I make it out of sight, I curse under my breath and try to rub the pain from my shoulder.

"Please don't let it be that he noticed." I whisper to myself as I pad down the sidewalk towards my aunt's flat.

I rap lightly on the door as it just begins to drizzle rain. In a few moments the door swings open to reveal the face of my Aunt Martha. Her features light up with excitement as she sees me.

"Oh Delta, it's good to see you back in London." She tells me with a wide smile.

"Yes, but this might only be temporary Aunt Martha." I tell her as she pulls me inside and into her flat. "London is really costly to live in."

"It wouldn't be too bad if you found yourself a nice flatmate. It'd put me at ease too." She tells me and I groan.

"As I've told you before I can take care of myself." I respond in a monotone.

"I know that Delta. It doesn't mean I don't worry about you." She tells me with a gentle pat to the hand.

"Before I find a flatmate I probably need to find employment." I tell her.

"That is probably a very good place to start." She agrees.

"However most people are not too keen on hiring me…" I state as I twist a ring about my finger.

"What about a nice secretarial position?" She asks me.

"At this point I'd accept any form of legal employment." I tell her as the door to the flat slams.

"That must be the new tenants." Aunt Martha says.

"Did you finally find people for the B flat then?" I ask her and she nods.

"One of the young men is very peculiar and the other was a doctor in the army." She tells me.

"Aunt Martha, now you have me worried. You rent to _two_ young men. You'd better be careful before one of them sweeps you off your feet." I say jokingly and she laughs lightly.

"Oh I don't think there's anything to worry about." She hints and my eyes widen slightly.

"You think that they're together then?" I ask and she nods. "Fantastic!" I state with a little clap.

"But I'm not certain, Sherlock doesn't strike me as the relationship type." She tells me.

"Is this Sherlock tall with curly hair and blue eyes? Wears a long coat and scarf?" I ask and she nods.

"How do you know Sherlock?" She asks.

"Molly Hooper introduced me today to him." I say, "For the most part he just stared at me."

"You don't think he noticed, you know…" She says her voice trailing off.

"I left before he could ask me any questions. I don't think he knows. I stumbled a few times but I could explain it if he tries to pry." I say and adjust my glasses again.

Aunt Martha smiles at me almost sadly.

"Now, dear, it's rather late and I don't think I like you walking when it's dark. Why don't you stay here tonight? I have that extra room." She tells me and I shrug.

"If it makes you feel better I'll stay." I say and she smiles and leads me back to her extra room. When she leaves I drop my bag onto the floor and practically fall into the bed and into sleep in a few minutes.


	2. Chapter 2

The heels of my shoes click lightly on the tile of the little coffee shop Molly requested I meet her at.

"Heels, Delta?" She asks and I roll my eyes.

"I had an interview today." I respond as I tug at the hem of my pencil skirt and drape the matching blazer over the back of my chair.

"Do you think you've got it then?" She asks and I shrug.

"I tend to be rather unremarkable, but the doctor appeared to be impressed, but once again I cannot read people very well either…" I say my voice trailing off.

"What is it that you interviewed for?" She asks.

"A nice safe position, entirely mundane." I respond with a sigh.

"Believe me when I tell you that if you continue to stay with your Aunt, life will be anything but mundane Delta." Molly half-whispers to me and I raise my eyebrows.

"Don't tell me this has something to do with Sherlock Holmes, Molls. I've barely said two sentences to the man. However he has already formed quite the bond with my Aunt." I respond.

"He'll still somehow manage to suck you in. He's asked me plenty about you, Delta." She says and I chuckle.

"Like what? 'Why is she a complete klutz?'?" I ask and she rolls her eyes.

"Plenty of people run into things Delta. He probably didn't notice." She responds.

"Then why ask questions?" I ask in return.

"He can't figure you out. Sherlock prides himself on being to know every detail of a person he's just met. He's missing something about you." She says and I laugh.

"So I'm a mystery to him." I say as I lean forward and rest my chin on my hands.

"You're a mystery to a lot of people." She tells me.

I suck in a deep breath as the nicotine hits me. I lean against the wall just outside of the door to 221 Baker Street and have one armed draped about my waist. The world around me rushes by as the two men from the B flat approach the door. I quickly stub out my cigarette and give them a short wave and step away to pull out my phone. I keep my back towards them as I send off a couple of texts to a few buddies.

The bass thumps as I approach the bar and with a few muttered words I have two shots in front of me. Without a second thought I knock them both back and make my way to the pulsating dance floor. The familiarity of the bodies pressed against each other rushes back to me as a complete stranger pulls me to him and we start dancing.

Shot after shot.

Mixed beverage, one after the other.

In a blur, I find myself stumbling from the club and into a cab.

"221 Baker Sssstreeet." I slur to the cabbie as I sink into the seat. He glances at me in the mirror for a few seconds longer than normal before pulling away from the curb.

In a few minutes the cab rolls slowly up in front of the door. From my purse I hand the cabbie the fare and his tip before I stumble to the sidewalk.

"Delta?" Sherlock's flat-mate, John, says from beside me. "Are you drunk?"

"Maaaaaybeee a littleee." I respond and hoist myself to one foot. "Isn't it a lovely night? You can almost see the stars."

"Let's get you inside." He says and helps me through the door.

"Thanks John." I say looking where I think he is.

"Over here Delta." He says and I turn my head to see him.

"Sorry, you were in my blind spot…" I slur slightly and then feel my eyes go wide.

"Blind spot?" John asks.

"What?" I ask as I lean against the wall and completely fall to the ground.

"Delta!" John says and pulls me up.

"My depth perception is terrible when I'm drunk." I mutter.

"What?" He asks.

"You aren't going to let this go are you?" I ask and he shakes his head.

"Half blind." I state. "Breathe a word of this to anyone John and I will murder you."

"I promise Delta." He responds.

"That includes your friend up there Sherlock." I point towards his flat and stumble a little bit.

I wake up to sunlight shining into my eyes and a pounding headache. I sit up slowly and swing my feet to the floor.

"Late night, Delta?" Aunt Martha asks from the doorway.

"Yeah…." I say my voice trailing off.

"John told me that you accidentally told him about you-know-what…" She says.

"I was drunk and he swore not to tell." I say with a shrug.

I walk into the lab and hear

"Do you want coffee Sherlock" from Molly.

"Black two sugars." He responds rather gruffly.

"Coffee Delta?" She asks me and beckons me to follow her.

"You know caffeine is the only other weakness I have," I respond as I follow her.

"Are you trying to torture Sherlock?" She asks me as we walk.

"Why? He didn't sound agonized in the slightest." I respond.

"He's on a case, so I'm sure he's more than a little distracted." She tells me and I laugh.

"Good. Last thing I need right now is someone prying into my life." I tell her and shove my glasses up my nose.

We walk back into the lab and Molly drops off Sherlock's coffee and he doesn't even look up. I dig around in my bag for a few moments and produce my sketchbook and pencils and start sketching.

"You're left handed." Sherlock states once again without looking up.

"Yes sir I am." I respond without looking up myself.

"What are you doing here?" He asks.

"Waiting on my friend." I respond as I scrub out a stray mark with my eraser.

"You're distracting me." He states and I shrug.

"That appears to be a personal issue, Sherlock. I cannot help that my mere presence distracts you." I deadpan at him and glance up at him and find him looking at me. "Would you like a picture Sherlock?" I ask and he turns back to his work with a faint ghost of a smile on his face.

"You weren't raised in England, were you?" He asks.

"Part of my life was spent in the United States, if that's what you were asking." I respond as I tuck a knee under myself.

"So you've known my aunt for a while then?" I ask in turn.

"You can say that." He responds as I spin and tip over my coffee and it spills right into my back.

"Dammit!" I exclaim as I grab the mug and my bag and rush from the lab.

I erupt into the ladies room and slam my bag onto the counter. I yank wads of paper towels from their holder and attempt to sop up the mess.

"Stupid. Stupid." I mutter to myself as I fail to clean up the mess. I sling the bag back onto my shoulder and send a text to Molly explaining what happened as I walk from St. Bart's towards the metro.


	3. Chapter 3

I practically erupt into 221B after hearing two consecutive gunshots from above me.

"Is there any particular reason as to why you're shooting bullets into my Aunt's wall?" I ask with crossed arms and glance at the bullet holes to fund _multiple_ holes in the shape of a smiley face.

"Really?"

"Bored." He sulks

"Excuse me?"

"Bored!" He states louder and I raise my eyebrows at him as he jumps up and switches the pistol to the other hand.

"Bored! Bored!" He says and fires off more rounds.

"Don't know what's got into the criminal classes. Good job I'm not one of them." Sherlock states once again sulkily.

"So you take it out on the wall?" John asks from behind me.

"Ah the wall had it coming." Sherlock states and I roll my eyes.

"What about that Russian case?" John asks.

"Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time." He responds and I suppress a shudder.

"Ah, shame." John says rather sarcastically. "Anything in? I'm starving." He says and opens the fridge to find a head.

"It's a head…" He says "A severed head!"

"Just tea for me thanks." Sherlock says ignoring John's shock.

"No, there's a head in the fridge." John states.

"Yes."

"A bloody head!" John yells and I jump a little.

"Well where else was I supposed to put it?" Sherlock asks.

"Well while you two sort this out, I'm heading to the shops. Do either of you need anything?" I ask as I head for their door. The two begin arguing about John writing up the taxi driver case and I'm part way down the stairs when I hear John say.

"Or whether the Earth goes round the Sun." He says and I go right back to their flat.

"Who doesn't know that the Earth goes round the Sun?" I say slightly shocked.

"Not this again. It's not _important_." Sherlock says and I chuckle.

"He does have a point John. How often do you have a discussion about heliocentrism?" I ask turning to John. "It's just a bit of information to teach you in primary school." I say and head back for the shops.

I cross the threshold into 221B to drop off the milk for John.

"I see you've pissed off my Aunt." I say as I put the milk in the fridge away from the head. I turn to see Sherlock grinning like a madman at the smiley face on the wall. I step behind Sherlock to head out of his flat. Suddenly a massive explosion throws us both to the floor as bits of glass bite into my skin.

I sit up slowly, entirely shocked. Within a few minutes the police have swarmed the streets. I bring a hand slowly to the right side of my face to adjust my glasses.

"Are you okay Delta?" Sherlock asks as I get to my feet.

"I've got a couple minor cuts from the glass. What the hell happened?" I ask as I dust the debris off me. Sherlock gently turns my head.

"Your glasses broke…" He says and I shrug.

"I can get a new pair."

"Sherlock! Sherlock!" We hear John yell as he comes up the stairs.

"I should go clean myself up." I mutter slightly as I head for the door.

I take the stairs as fast as I can and stumble at the bottom slightly. I duck into my basement flat.

Quiet as a mouse, I wash the blood from my face and toss my now broken glasses onto my desk. I wince slightly when I look in the mirror and see the angry redness from the cuts on the right side of my face. Luckily, none are deeper than one you'd receive from a piece of paper.

My hair is still slightly wet when I emerge from my flat and head towards the still crowded street.

"Hello" I mutter to the man that appears in the hall around the same time I do.

"I assume you're Mrs. Hudson's niece?" He asks and I nod.

"Delta Hudson." I reply "Who are you?"

"Mycroft Holmes."

"Older or younger?" I ask

"Older."

"He must've been a pain to grow up with." I state.

"It was nice meeting you, Delta Hudson." Mycroft says as we step into the street. "We'll probably be seeing more of each other if you stick around my brother long enough."

"I don't typically allow myself to get tied down for too long, so we shall see Mycroft Holmes."

I arrive at Detective Inspector Lestrade's office rather confused.

"What do you need me here for Sherlock?" I ask and attempt to lean against the wall but John catches me.

"Always good to have another perspective and you appear to be able to keep up better than John."

"Your text made it seem urgent." I remark and he smirks as the Detective Inspector walks into his office.

"You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones." He asks.

"Obviously." Sherlock responds.

"You'll love this." Detective Inspector Lestrade says "That explosion…"

"The gas leak, yes?" Sherlock interrupts.

"No." The Detective Inspector states.

"No?" Sherlock asks, clearly intrigued now.

"Made to look like one." The Detective Inspector responds.

 _ **Transcript credit to:**_ _ **.**_

 _ **Shout out to TheMamaBear for pointing out an interesting fact to me that has really inspired me.**_

 _ **Stats:**_

 _ **122 reads (holy cow that makes me happy!)**_

 _ **3 favorites (still happy)**_

 _ **10 followers (absolutely ecstatic now)**_

 _ **1 review (after only two chapters and a good one at that :) )**_

 _ **Happy chapter three everyone! I decided to skip "A Study in Pink" and "The Blind Banker" because both of those are really expositionary episodes and I have so much planned for this that I don't have time for a load of exposition. However they may come back in bits and pieces as fillers. Who knows… Plus I'd like to get to the meat of the series (and by that I mean James Moriarty) mainly because it allows me to pace this a lot better and get into the swing of writing these characters. Which is proving to be difficult for me. I have a tendency to rush right into romances and then have the story fizzle out and I can't do that with this. I've invested too much time in Delta Hudson to fizzle out on this story. So bear with me. Episodes might span a couple of chapters, but then again every episode is longer than an hour. I can't be expected to fit all of that into one chapter without glossing over just about everything but the action. A forty minute episode of any other show always winds up at about 13,000 words following the transcript. That's basically a novella. Too much for a single chapter.**_

 _ **Anyways… thank you all so much for reading and I hope you enjoy this as much as I do. I'm having a blast writing this! Even if it takes me 37 years to write a chapter (chapter 4 could be delayed because I have graduation rehearsal Thursday and graduation itself Friday.) But please stick with me!**_

 _ **Your Author,**_

 _ **WaywardSoulCreation**_


	4. Chapter 4

"Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box – a very strong box – and inside it was this" The Detective Inspector states and produces an envelope. For a moment I frown in confusion.

"You haven't opened it?" Sherlock asks as he slowly reaches for the envelope.

"It's addressed to you isn't it?" Detective Inspector Lestrade responds. I scoff but quickly cover it with a mild coughing fit.

"Ignore me." I say with a wave of my hand. "I still don't know why I was asked here."

"We've x-rayed it." Lestrade continues "It's not booby-trapped."

"How reassuring." Sherlock responds, and I'm coming to realize that he is almost always sarcastic towards those who he feels are inferior. However, he still hesitates before taking the envelope.

"Nice stationery." Sherlock states. "Bohemian."

"What?" Lestrade asks.

"From the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?" Sherlock follows up.

"No."

"She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold- iridium nib."

"'She'?" John asks.

"Obviously." Sherlock states and John rolls his eyes.

"The handwriting itself is far to careful for a man, truthfully." I say as I walk to Sherlock to study the handwriting. "A lot of care went into this. Whoever she is is trying to either impress you or get your attention. The writing isn't even rushed." Sherlock glances at me for a moment, perhaps a moment too long before grabbing a letter opener and ripping through the envelope.

"But that's- the phone, the pink phone." John says and slightly scrunches his face in confusion.

"What, from The Study in Pink?" Lestrade asks.

"The Study in Pink? You read his blog?" Sherlock asks still entirely enamored by the pink phone.

"'Course I read his blog! We all do. D'you really not know that the Earth goes round the Sun?" Lestrade asks and I stifle a snigger behind my hand and walk to John as Sherlock shoots him a dark look.

"He's never going to be allowed to forget that, is he?" I whisper to him.

"Never." John vows in an equally quiet whisper.

"It isn't the same phone, its brand new." Sherlock announces while still investigating the horrendously pink phone. "Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone, which means your blog has a far wider readership." Sherlock says throwing John yet another look. Sherlock switches the phone on and almost immediately the phone spouts out an alert.

"You have one new message."

The message play but has no vocals. There are five little pips, four short pips followed b a longer tone. I begin chewing my bottom lip in confusion.

"Is that it?" John asks as I begin drumming my fingers very lightly on my thigh.

"No. That's not it." Sherlock says and shows us the photograph left on the phone. A fireplace in a decrepit, unfurnished room. The wallpapering is peeling from the walls, a full-length mirror is propped in one corner, a smaller mirror that should be above the fireplace is set on the mantlepiece. The photographer's reflection is not caught in either mirror.

"What the hell are we supposed to make of that?! An estate agents photo and the bloody Greenwich pips." Lestrade states, his frustration leaking into his voice.

"It's a warning." Sherlock states and I glance at him.

"A warning?" I ask as I stop drumming my fingers.

"Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips…" Sherlock explains.

"They're warning us that it's going to happen again. Not not warning, telling us." I state and Sherlock begins to sweep from the office. I follow closely behind.

"And I've seen this place before." Sherlock states

"H-hang on/ What's going to happen again?" John asks trailing behind us.

Sherlock pivots to face John, rather dramatically he slaps his hands together.

"Boom!" He says, imitating the noise of an explosion as Lestrade catches up with us.

We arrive back at Baker Street, Sherlock immediately heading for the basement flat of 221 Baker Street.

"Mrs. Hudson!" He shouts.

"She's not in, Sherlock." I tell him as I step into 221A with the key she gave me and grab the master set. I drop them into Sherlock's outstretched hand and step back.

"The doors been opened recently." Sherlock states.

"You have the _only_ key, Sherlock." I tell him.

Sherlock removes the padlock and inserts the key into the lock on the door handle. The door swings open and Sherlock steps inside, followed closely by Lestrade and John. I stand at the threshold, eyes sweeping the musty flat.

"Shoes." John states and I enter the flat then. Sherlock steps towards them and John hold him back, almost as if just noticing me, Lestrade does the same to myself.

"He's a bomber, remember." John reminds us. However, that only stops Sherlock for a moment, he crouches and presses both hands to the floor before leaning over the shoes. He leans in rather close before a sudden ringing of a phone causes the four of us to jump. Sherlock leans back from the shoes and closes his eyes for a moment before answering the phone.

"Hello?" He asks softly. The three of us stare at Sherlock, only able to hear half of the conversation.

"Who's this?" Sherlock asks into the phone.

"Who's talking? Why are you crying?"

"The curtain rises." Sherlock states softly.

"What? John asks.

"Nothing." Sherlock immediately responds.

"What did you mean?" John asks in a pressing tone.

"I've been expecting this for some time." Sherlock says, half-turning away from us.

 _ **Hello again! Left it on another cliff hanger but hey! Updated for the second day in a row!**_

 _ **Transcript credit to the same website as last chapter and will most likely be the same from here on out. Another thank you to the use TheMamaBear for once again inspiring me. Also thank you to my close friend who just read the first three chapters and made me very happy with her feedback! Next chapter should be coming within a couple of days.**_

 _ **Stats:**_

 _ **Reviews: 2**_

 _ **Favorites: 5**_

 _ **Views: 177 (23 more until 200 :) )**_

 _ **Followers: 12**_

 _ **Thank you all so much for reading! Still having a blast writing this.**_

 _ **See you soon-**_

 _ **WaywardSoulCreation**_


	5. Chapter 5

"So who d'you think it was?" John asks as he enters the lab at St. Bart's. Somewhere a phone pings.

"Hmm?" Sherlock asks disregarding the phone.

"The woman on the phone- the crying woman." John uselessly clarifies.

"Oh, she doesn't matter. She's just a hostage- no leads there." Sherlock responds and John looks surprised.

"Hostage situations are very rarely about the hostage themselves, John." I say as I glance up from the file spread around me. "Hostages are taken to either send a message to law enforcement or as insurance. Criminals are far less likely to be injured if there is an innocent party involved. The woman on the phone just so happens to be unfortunate enough to have been taken hostage."

"For god's sake!" John half shouts "I wasn't thinking about leads or about the mind of the criminal."

"You aren't going to be of much use to her." Sherlock replies and I shuffle through the file around me. On the screen that was running tests on the trainers, a message pops up.

"NO MATCH" It says.

"Are-are you trying to trace the call?" John asks.

"The bomber is far too intelligent for that John. Tracing the call is too easy, they want this to be a sort of game." I respond as I shove the papers back into the manila envelope I received them in. The same phone as before pings again.

"Pass me my phone." Sherlock asks with a hand outstretched, but not looking from the microscope.

"Where is it?" John asks.

"Jacket." Sherlock responds. John straightens, his entire body slowly becoming rigid. He almost broadcasts a murderous message. John practically stomps to Sherlock and digs through the pockets of the jacket that he's _wearing_. I rub a hand across my face in disbelief.

"Careful." Sherlock growls and I shake my head.

"Text from your brother." John says as he produces the phone.

"Delete it." Sherlock says.

"Delete it?" John asks rather incredulously.

"Missile plans are out of the country. Nothing we can do about it." Sherlock states and I roll my eyes. Springing to my fee, I sweep my bag onto my shoulder and shove the file inside it.

"Well I can see that my presence is no longer needed. If for some reason I am required again, the both of you know how to reach me." I state with a small wave goodbye.

I walk down the front steps of St. Bart's and stand for a moment. People walk past, hardly glancing at each other. I join the flow of people until I find a coffee shop. I duck into a corner table and pull the file from my bag. The din of conversation around me is refreshing after sitting in the silence of that lab. I dig my phone from my bag, _Just in case_ , I tell myself as I lay it face down on the dark stained table.

I flick open the folder. On the top are photographs, there are a few shots of my Aunt, even less of the tenants of 221B. Primarily there are photographs of myself, spanning a few years. Behind the photographs is a document.

 **Name: Delta Isabelle Hudson**

 **Age: 33**

 **Date of Birth: December 30th 1982**

 **Height: 5'4"**

 **Delta Hudson is a behavioral scientist that formerly worked close with the Federal Bureau of Investigations. Hudson was a part of the team involved in [REDACTED] that lead to the death of [REDACTED]. Hudson has been cleared by the Federal Bureau of Investigations for discharge.**

The file itself lacks substantial detail. Typical of a file that has been scrubbed of any important details. However I cannot understand why there are photographs of myself and acquaintances in the file.

I flip to the very back of the file and a small piece of paper flutters to the table.

 _ **You are not a mystery to me, Delta Hudson.**_

A cold chill runs down my back and I shudder slightly. Concern riddles my body as my mind begins to race through all of cases I handled while I was in the United States. I bite my lip in confusion and drum my fingers. Very few cases went unsolved… very few suspects got away from us. But someone knows that I was allowed to leave. But more importantly, they know just how easy it is to get to me.

As a distraction, I send a text to Molly about my location.

"Feel free to bring this Jim I've heard so much about. I'd like to meet him."

About fifteen minutes pass before Molly sweeps in, an air of both anger about her.

"What happened? Where's Jim?" I ask as she sits.

"I introduced him to Sherlock." She says and I groan.

"Well there was your mistake. What'd he say about Jim?"

"He says Jim is gay…" Molly responds, her voice trailing off as she looks at me with hope.

"He's the I.T. guy, yeah?" I ask and she nods.

"We're meeting around six at the Fox. Come with me?" She practically begs.

"WIsh I could Molls, I really do, but I promised Aunt Martha that I'd take her to the cinema tonight." I say and her eagerness fades a little.

"Next time you need me, I'm all yours." I tell her and that makes her smile. She glances down at the note that I stupidly didn't put away.

"Have you got an admirer, Delta?" She asks as she picks up the note. I snatch it from her and stuff it into my bag.

"Perhaps." I say with a wave of my hand.

"How exciting!" Molly says and I roll my eyes.

"Admirers keep themselves secret for a reason. Clearly whoever this is had a reason for not wanting me to know their identity." I state.

"Unless it's someone you already know. Oooh do you think it's Sherlock?" She asks and I can't help but to laugh.

"Molly that man identifies himself as a sociopath. Sociopaths do not feel any emotion remotely close to love. I sincerely doubt Sherlock would ever send me a note. He'd practically gloat about _finally_ figuring me out."

"I guess you're right." She says with a pout.

"Molly, it's five now. If you want to make your date we should leave now. We can share a cab." I say as we head for the door.

I walk with light footsteps back into the lab to see both John and Sherlock studying the trainers now.

"The owner loved these. Scrubbed them clean, whitened them where they got discoloured. Changed the laces three ... no, four times." Sherlock states as John drops his head into his hand in despair.

"Even so, there are traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them, so he suffered from eczema. Shoes are well-worn, more so on the inside, which means the owner had weak arches. British-made, twenty years old."

"Twenty years?" I ask, crossing my arms once again.

"They're not retro – they're original." Sherlock says, showing John and I a picture on his phone.

"Limited edition: two blue stripes, nineteen eighty-nine" He states.

"But there's still mud on them. They look new." John says.

"Someone's kept them that way. Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. Analysis shows it's from Sussex, with London mud overlaying it." Sherlock tells him.

"How do you know?" John asks, incredibly curious.

"Pollen. Clear as a map reference to me." Sherlock says nodding towards a computer.

"South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind." I say, with slight confusion.

"So what happened to him?" John asks.

"Something bad." Sherlock states darkly.

"He loved those shoes, remember. He'd never leave them filthy. Wouldn't leave them go unless he had to. So: a child with big feet gets …" Sherlock's voice trails off as he stares into the distance.

"Oh…" He says softly.

"What?" John asks trying to figure out what Sherlock could possibly be looking at.

"Carl Powers."

"I'm sorry, who?" I ask beginning to get confused even further.

"Carl Powers." Sherlock states again.

"What is it?" John asks.

"Where I got my start." Sherlock responds.

 _ **So I guess I'm on a roll then. Yet another chapter up… the longest so far. Hope you guys are enjoying this!**_

 _ **Stats:**_

 _ **Reviews: 2**_

 _ **Favorites: 5**_

 _ **Views: 229 :D**_

 _ **Followers: 12**_

 _ **There may be a new chapter out tomorrow night as well. It depends, I have some plans tomorrow night and work Saturday morning. Who knows. Will definitely try to get the next chapter out as soon as I can! Thank you all again for reading!**_

 _ **See you soon-**_

 _ **WaywardSoulCreation**_


	6. Chapter 6

"Nineteen eighty-nine, a young kid – champion swimmer – came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. Tragic accident." Sherlock states, showing John and myself a front page of a newspaper on his cell phone.

"You wouldn't remember it. Why should you?" Sherlock asks.

"But _you_ remember." John states and they both glance at me.

"I was in the United States in eighty-nine." I respond with a shrug. "I wouldn't have heard about it."

"Something fishy about it?" John asks.

"Nobody thought so – nobody except me. I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers. " Sherlock states.

"Started young, didn't you?" I ask with a light chuckle.

"The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out it was too late. But there was something wrong; something I couldn't get out of my head." Sherlock states, although smirking ever so slightly.

"What?" John asks.

"His shoes." Sherlock states.

"What about them?" John continues.

"They weren't there. I made a fuss; I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important. He'd left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes …" Sherlock says, voice fading.

"Until now…" I finish for him.

 _Six hours to go…_

I walk lightly up the stairs to 221B. I rap lightly on the door before poking my head in. I see John walk to the sliding doors of their kitchen.

"Can I help?" He asks but Sherlock ignores him, lost in thought.

"I want to help. There's only five hours left." He says as my phone buzzes in my pocket. I see John reach for his too.

 **Any developments?**

 **Mycroft Holmes.**

"It's your brother." John states "He's texting _me_ now."

"Me as well." I say, slightly puzzled.

"How does he know my number?" John asks.

"Must be a root canal…" Sherlock says thoughtfully.

"Look, he did say 'national importance'." John tells him.

"How quaint." Sherlock says.

"What is?" John returns.

"You are. Queen and country." Sherlock states.

"You can't just ignore it. I remind Sherlock. "Mycroft seems pretty persistent."

"I'm not ignoring it, I'm putting my best man on it right now." He tells me.

"Who's that?" John asks and I shake my head.

"He means you John. Seeing as I am very clearly not a man." I say and look beyond John to Sherlock.

"I'm heading out for a quick coffee run. Aunt Martha's just run out. Need anything?" I ask, really directing the question to the both of them. Sherlock already seems lost in thought. I duck out of their flat and pad back down the stairs and onto the street.

I pull my light jacket tighter around my, mind racing.

"A champion swimmer doesn't just drown." I mutter, shuddering at the thought of swimming itself.

 _My head breaches the surface of the icy water. I gasp, oxygen filling my burning lungs. I rock back and forth in the rough waters. The smell of seaweed and salt invading my nostrils. My small limbs are barely keeping my head above the water._

" _MUM!" I roar, now noticing I'm a distance away from the shores. They warned me about the riptide. Panic hits me, as the tears threaten to spill over and down my cheeks._

" _Mum.." I whimper as a wave crashes into the side of my head and drags me under. I kick to the surface as hard as I can. I erupt, water pouring from my mouth. In a frenzy, I paddle weakly towards the shore._

 _Ages later, I can hear people shouting my name._

" _Delta!" I hear my Dad scream._

" _Dad!" I yell back weakly, the ocean still crashing into me. I see my father sprint into the ocean. He was always a strong swimmer._

 _Dad swims with me back to shore. Mum and Aunt Martha come sprinting towards us. Mum drapes a towel around my shoulder, tears streaking her face._

" _Oh Delta… I should have been paying attention." She tells me, pulling my shaking body towards hers._

The little bell above the shop's door jingles, ripping me from my memories. After that day, I never went back into the ocean, or any body of water really. I never was a very strong swimmer to begin with. Being taken by a riptide was just the nail in the coffin, almost literally. I bring a bag of coffee to my nose, inhaling its aroma, settling my nerves.

 _Three hours to go_

Aunt Martha sends me up the stairs with a tray of coffee, despite my muttering about not being a maid.

"You seem to have already grown close to them." She reminds me and I roll my eyes.

I walk into the B flat, tray in hand. I set it on the kitchen table and Sherlock looks up at me.

"Poison." He says as if it's some profound statement and it clicks.

"Yes, but what?" I ask.

"Clostridium botulinum." He says, slamming his hands on the table. John returns finally, perhaps at a confusing moment.

"It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet." He says, and I am truthfully shocked. John looks at the pair of us blankly.

"Carl Powers." I supply.

"Oh wait, you're saying he was murdered?" John asks.

"How else would a champion swimmer drown?" I mutter mostly to myself, but catch a look of amusement from Sherlock. I shrug slightly and break eye contact.

Sherlock walks over to where he hung the laces from the trainers.

"Remember the shoelaces?" He asks us.

"Mmm." John responds.

"The boy suffered from eczema. It would be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison to his medication." Sherlock states, rather animated now. "Two hours later, he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns."

"What- how-how come the autopsy didn't pick that up?" John asks.

"Virtually undetectable." Sherlock states.

"But there were still tiny traces from where he put the cream on his feet." He says, walking over to a laptop and typing something on it. When he finishes he straightens up.

"That's why they had to go." Sherlock says.

"So how do we let this bomber know?" John asks.

"We get his attention…" I say

"... stop the clock." Sherlock says.

"The murderer kept the shoes all these years." He states and my eyes widen slightly.

"So he's also our bomber then?" I ask, already knowing the answer. The pink phone rings on the kitchen table. Sherlock picks it up.

"Where are you? Tell us where you are." He says, loud and clear.

John and I sit opposite Detective Inspector Lestrade, Sherlock is in front of the window.

"She lives in Cornwall. Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house." Lestrade tells us.

"Told her to phone you. She had to read out from this pager." Lestrade continues as he sets the pager in front of us. John picks it up and examines it.

"And if she deviated one word, the sniper would set her off." Sherlock says and I purse my lips slightly, beginning to zone out a little.

"Or if you hadn't solved the case." John says softly. _It's not entirely solved,_ I think to myself, _he's an intelligent criminal. He isn't through with Sherlock yet…_

"Oh. Elegant." Sherlock says, walking back to the window. John looks up, exasperated.

"Elegant?" John asks.

"But what's the point? Why would anyone _do_ this?" Lestrade asks.

"Oh- I can't be the only person in the world that gets bored." Sherlock says as he pivots and locks eyes with me. He has this odd glint in them, like he's just discovered something. I merely raise my eyebrows at him, a silent challenge.

 _Figure me out._ I almost beg, mentally.

 _ **Hey sorry for not updating the last two days. Friday I graduated high school and had no time. Saturday I had no energy after work. So for missing two days, I am going to do a double upload. Mainly because it's only 9pm here so I do have the time.**_

 _ **Stats:**_

 _ **Reviews: 3**_

 _ **Favorites: 5**_

 _ **Views: 313 (can you feel my freaking happiness? :D )**_

 _ **Followers: 14**_

 _ **See you all really soon (like in two hours lmao)-**_

 _ **WaywardSoulCreation**_


	7. Chapter 7

"You have one new message." The phone alerts us. I pick it up and let the message play. This time there are three short pips followed by one long one.

"Four pips." John says.

"Looks like you've passed the first test, Sherlock."

"It would seem so. Here's the second." He says as I turn the phone so they can see the new photograph. It appears to be a close up shot of a car with its door wide open. The number plate on the car is clearly visible. Sherlock steps forward for a closer look, outside the office a phone rings.

"It looks as if it's been abandoned." Sherlock says.

"I'll see if it's been reported." Lestrade volunteers.

"Freak, its for you." Donovan says from the doorway. Sherlock walks to her and takes the phone outside the office.

"Stay with Lestrade." I whisper to John and follow Sherlock out.

"Hello?" He asks.

"Who is this? Is it you again?"

Sherlock looks around sharply, someone knows we're here.

"And you've stolen another voice." Sherlock finally responds.

"Who are you?"

"What's that noise?"

"Okay… great." Lestrade says from inside the office.

"We've found it." He tells us, as Sherlock hangs up and follows Lestrade.

We arrive at a river. Forensics all around us, I fall in step behind Sally Donovan and John. My foot collides with a hard object I didn't see and I pitch forward. I hit the ground faster than anticipated with a small thud. Only Sally and John turn to see if I'm alright.

"Are you okay?" John asks urgently as he helps me to my feet. I dust the dirt from my pants and find Donovan staring at me quizzically. I take a step towards her.

"You only get the privilege of knowing this because you've just witnessed me tripping on something that any other person would have stepped around. I'm partially blind. I do not let it control my life. I trust that you will not breathe a word of this to anyone. I do not need their pity." I say, my voice a low threatening growl. Donovan looks slightly scared and nods agreement.

"You're both still around him." She says as Sherlock and Lestrade walk around to the passenger side of the car.

"Yep." I respond trying to distract myself from the increasing wet patch on the knee of my jeans.

"Yeah, well…" John says.

"Opposites attract, I suppose." Donovan says, glancing at me.

"You think that Sherlock and I are together?" I ask shaking my head. "He's not my type." I state and walk ahead of them. Sherlock glances up at me and then frowns when he notices the knee of my jeans.

"You're bleeding." He states and I shrug.

"Things happen." I state nonchalantly as Sherlock leans into the car towards a large smear of blood.

"Before you ask, yes, it's Monkford's blood. The DNA checks out." Lestrade states.

"No body." Sherlock states as he pulls a business card from the glove box.

"Not yet." Donovan states.

"Get a sample sent to the lab." Sherlock states as he To one side I spot who I can assume to be the widow. She's a sobbing mess, my heart wants to break for her, but things aren't adding up.

"Mrs. Monkford?" I ask in a gentle voice, John and Sherlock coming up behind me.

"Yes." She states "Sorry, but I've already spoken to two policemen.

"No, we're not from the police, we're…" John begins to say before Sherlock cuts in suddenly tearful and trembling.

"Sherlock Holmes. Very old friend of your husband's. We, um …" He says looking as if he's fighting back tears, it takes a few seconds for me to catch on, I reach out and place a hand on his arm.

"... we grew up together." He finishes.

"I'm sorry, who? I don't think he ever mentioned you." She says, slightly suspicious.

"Huh. Sherlock has told me so much about him." I say trying to ease her.

"Who are you?" She asks turning towards me.

"Delta Hudson." I reply with a sorrowful smile.

"My fiancee." Sherlock states and she seems a little more settled.

"This is ... this is horrible, isn't it?" Sherlock asks still tearful.

"I mean, I just can't believe it. We only saw him the other day. Same old Ian – not a care in the world." Sherlock states, by now actual tears are running down his cheeks. I fake a frown as I slip my hand into his in a supportive gesture.

"Sorry, but my husband has been depressed for months. Who are you?" She says once again suspicious.

"Really strange that he hired a car. Why would he do that? It's a bit suspicious, isn't it?" Sherlock asks.

"No, it isn't. He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that's all." Mrs. Monkford responds bluntly.

"Oh, well, that was Ian! That was Ian all over!" Sherlock states.

"No it wasn't." She states and Sherlock drops the fake persona, and I drop his hand.

"Wasn't it. Interesting." Sherlock says as he walks away. I shrug apologetically for deceiving her and follow. I hear John mutter a sorry as he follows us.

"Why did the two of you lie to her?" John asks as we duck under the tape.

"People don't like telling you things, but they love to contradict you. Past tense, did you notice?" Sherlock asks.

"Sorry, what?" John asks.

"Sherlock primarily spoke of her husband in the past tense. She almost immediately joined in." I respond.

"A bit premature don't you think? They've only just found the car." Sherlock states.

"You think she murdered her husband?" John asks.

"Definitely not. That's not a mistake a murderer would make." Sherlock explains.

"But she's almost certainly involved somehow." I add.

"I see." John says. "No, I don't. What am I supposed to be seeing?" He asks.

"Fishing, try fishing!" Donovan shouts to John and he nods.

"Where now?" John asks.

"Janus Cars." Sherlock states handing John the business card.

"Just found this in the glove compartment."

 _ **Hey guys a little shorter than normal but I'm actually drained. Stats haven't changed much in the hour since I last updated. However as promised here is a second chapter! Enjoy!**_

 _ **~WaywardSoulCreation**_


	8. Chapter 8

*****AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'VE SKIPPED TO THE END OF 'THE GREAT GAME' BECAUSE IT'S MOVING FAR TOO SLOW WITHOUT MORIARTY :/ DON'T HATE ME*****

"It has to be a fake." Sherlock says from in front of the Vermeer painting.

"That painting has been subjected to every test known to science." Miss Wenceslas tells him, rather annoyed.

"It's a very _good_ fake then." Sherlock says as he spins to glare at her.

"You _know_ about this, don't you?" He asks. "This is _you_ , isn't it?"

"Inspector, my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourself and your friends out?" Miss Wenceslas asks, now exasperated.

Suddenly, the pink phone rings. Sherlock snatches it from his pocket, flicking it to speaker.

"The painting is fake."Sherlock says into the phone but is only met by heaving breathing.

"It's a fake. That's why Woodbrige and Cairns were killed." Once again the only response being the heavy breathing.

"Oh, come on. Proving it's just the detail. The painting is a fake. I've solved it. I've figured it out. It's a fake! That's why they were killed." Sherlock says now angry, however when the phone remains silent he takes a breath to calm himself.

"Okay, I'll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?" He asks.

"Ten..." The voice of a terrified young boy finally comes through, I can feel my stomach drop to my feet.

"Its a kid, oh god, its a kid." Lestrade says shocked.

"What'd he say?" John asks looking back at me, now that Sherlock is distracted once more.

"He's given Sherlock more time… It's a countdown…" I say my voice trailing off.

"Nine…"

"Jesus." Lestrade says, reality slightly sinking in for him.

"The painting is fake, but how can I prove it? How? _How?_ " Sherlock mumbles mostly to himself. I turn to Miss Wenceslas, anger bubbling in my chest.

"Eight…"

"There is a child's life in danger now." I say as I stride towards her. "If you know that this painting is fake, tell us, or that child dies." I growl at her.

"No don't say anything. It only works if I figure it out." Sherlock says, holding up one hand. I remain standing in front of Wenceslas, glaring at her with nothing but pure hatred.

Seven…" The child's voice rings out.

"Must be possible. Must be staring me in the face." Sherlock mutters, still scanning the painting.

"Six…"The child says, John begins pacing, no longer being able to hold in his tension.

"Come on…" John says under his breath, turning back.

"Five…"

"It's speeding up!" Lestrade uselessly points out, anxiety evident in his voice.

"Woodbridge knew, but how?" Sherlock asks himself.

"Sherlock." I say, a hint of urgency in my voice.

"Oh." He says finally.

"Four…"

"In the planetarium! You heard it too. Oh, that is brilliant! That is gorgeous!" Sherlock says finally, shoving the pink phone into John's hand as he walks away. Grinning, he pulls his own phone from his pocket.

"Three…"

"What's brilliant? What is?" John asks.

"This is beautiful. I love this!" Sherlock says and I stare at him in wonder.

"Two…"

"Sherlock!" Lestrade practically shouts, now furious.

"The Vanburen Supernova!" Sherlock says.

"Please. Is anyone there?" The boy asks and I snatch the phone from John.

"Please, someone help me." He says.

"Stay where you are. The police are on their way to come get you. You're going to be fine." I promise the child as I hand the phone off to Lestrade.

"There you go. Go find out where he is and pick him up." Sherlock says, however he's looking at me. He stares for a few moments, in response I raise my eyebrows.

"What?" I ask, staring right back.

"Nothing." He says, with a small shake of his head.

"The Vanburen Supernova, so-called." Sherlock says suddenly as he holds his phone over his shoulder for Miss Wenceslas.

"Exploding star, only appeared in the sky in eighteen fifty-eight." Sherlock says.

"So how could it have been painted in the sixteen-forties?" John asks, stepping closer to the painting.

"Well, nearly anyone. But I didn't know how to go about convincing the world the picture was genuine. It was just an idea – a spark which he blew into a flame." Wenceslas says as I snap myself back to paying attention.

"Who?" Sherlock asks sharply.

"I don't know." Wenceslas says, shaking her head. I frown slightly at her all too evident lie.

"It's true! I mean, it took a long time, but eventually I was put in touch with people ... his people." She states.

"Well, there was never any real contact; just messages ... whispers." She says and I almost groan.

"And did those whispers have a name?" Sherlock asks, face intense.

Wenceslas gazes ahead for a moment, as if contemplating if it's worth revealing this identity. She looks to Lestrade, then glances over at me, I once again only raise my eyebrows, and then turns to Sherlock.

"Moriarty." She states.

Sherlock sinks back into his chair at this. He raises his hands in a psuedo-prayer position, in front of his mouth. He sits there, lost in thought and suddenly grins.

I arrive at Baker Street and enter my Aunt's flat.

"Delta, dear, you got a letter." She says, handing me a heavy envelope. There's no return address. On the front is merely _Delta Hudson_.

"This doesn't have any postmarks." I say and Aunt Martha shrugs.

"It was taped to the door." She remarks.

"Just upstairs your tenants are dealing with a bomber and you just take a potentially dangerous letter off the door without a care in the world?" I ask.

"Nothing happened, now did it?" She asks in response.

"But something could have."

"And something could happen to you while you help on these cases."

"Fair enough." I say as I walk to my room and sit on the edge of my bed. I tear into the envelope. A singular piece of paper is inside. Gingerly, I remove it from the envelope and smooth it out.

 _Getting closer…_

 _ **It's currently 12:04 AM and I have Lil Mama's Lip Gloss blasting through my headphones and just thought a paper bag was my dog and tried petting it. So, yeah I'm a little tired. I bet you all can guess who the letter is from lmao. That'll be fun… Any ideas as to how I start trying to slowly introduce a relationship? Im struggling there you guys. Thank you all for reading! I'm not posting stats tonight other than that we're halfway to 400. This is the fastest moving thing i've written so far. Also the most frequently updated lol.**_

 _ **Anyways enjoy!**_

 _ **If you have any suggestions I'm always open and I will give y'all credit for it. I'll keep writing but the romance aspect is gonna be hella delayed tbh. So have fun with Delta!**_

 _ **~WaywardSoulCreation**_


	9. Chapter 9

I'm leaning against the building when John and Sherlock finally decide to show up.

"Once again, why do you need me?" I ask.

"You're the smallest of the three of us, you can fit into the small places." Sherlock says, in an almost joking tone.

"Oh har har, Sherlock." I state with a hefty eye roll. He smirks as he trots up to the 21A flat.

"Sherlock!" John almost shouts. "What if there's someone inside?"

"There isn't." I assure him and stand back.

Sherlock picks the lock and steps inside, John follows closely behind. I stay on the sidewalk for a moment and glance around, hoping I'm being watched.

"Where are we?" I hear John asks as I step across the threshold, the door swinging closed behind me. Sherlock tosses at glance at me over his shoulder before answering.

"Oh, I didn't tell you?" He responds. " Joe Harrison's flat."

"Joe?" John asks.

"Brother of West's fiancee." Sherlock responds.

"He stole the memory stick; killed his prospective brother-in-law." Sherlock explains still looking around.

"Then why'd he do it?" John asks as the sounds of someone inserting a key begin behind me. I turn around calmly.

"Looks like we might get to ask him ourselves." I respond. John walks quietly to the door to the living room as the front door slams. Harrison, still in his courier uniform, is holding a bike preparing to set it down when he notices myself and John. He looks panicked as he picks the bike back up, either intending to use it as a weapon or just throw it a us.

"Don't." John says sternly, now brandishing the pistol he pulled from his jeans. Harrison is still moving, just as panicked.

"Don't." John says again, perhaps even more stern than earlier. Harrison stops and lowers the bike finally.

"It wasn't meant too…" Joe says, entirely distressed. Sherlock looks away exasperated.

"God." Joe says rubbing a hand across his face. "What's Lucy gonna say? Jesus."

"About what? You killing her fiancee?" I ask.

"It was an accident. Joe says and Sherlock snorts.

"Why do I find that hard to believe?" I ask him.

"I _swear_ it was." He practically pleads.

"But stealing the plans for the missile defence programme wasn't an accident, was it?" I ask sternly, barely registering the fact that both John and Sherlock have gone silent whilst watching me interrogate.

"I started dealing drugs. I mean, the bike thing's a great cover, right? I dunno – I dunno how it started; I just got out of my depth. I owed people thousands – serious people. Then at Westie's engagement do, he starts talking about his job." Joe tells us as I cross my arms.

"I mean, usually he's so careful; but that night after a few pints he really opened up. He told me about these missile plans – beyond top secret. He showed me the memory stick; he waved it in front of me. You hear about these things getting lost, ending up on rubbish tips and what-not. And there it was, and I thought ... well, I thought it could be worth a fortune." Joe says and I scoff lightly.

"It was pretty easy to get the thing off him, he was so plastered. Next time I saw him, I could tell by the look on his face that he knew." Joe says, looking guiltily up at me.

"What happened?" I urge.

"I was gonna call an ambulance, but it was too late."

"I just didn't have a clue what to do, so I dragged him in 'ere, and I just sat in the dark, thinking."

"When a neat little idea popped into your head." Sherlock finally says, as he stands and walks to the window.

"Carrying Andrew West way away from here. His body would have gone on for ages if the train hadn't met a stretch of track that curved." He says as he pushes aside the net curtains.

"And points." John adds.

"Exactly." Sherlock states.

"D'you still have it, then? The memory stick?" John asks, finally. Joe only nods in response.

"Fetch it for me – if you wouldn't mind." Sherlock asks, Joe stands with an unhappy sigh and walks to get it.

"Distraction over- the game continues." Sherlock says quietly to us.

"Maybe that's over too. We haven't heard anything from the bomber." John says and I shake my head.

"The pips are a countdown, five pips. We've only had four." I tell him. " It's definitely not over yet."

"No, no, no! Of course he's not the boy's father!" I hear Sherlock say as I step into their icy flat, with a tray of tea. "Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!"

I raise my eyebrows at John and glance at the telly.

"Bad idea, wasn't it?" I ask.

"What is?" Sherlock asks.

"Johnny boy getting you into those crap shows." I respond.

"Have you given your brother the memory stick, yet?" I ask setting the tray down. I glance at the windows that have yet to be fixed and shake my head.

"Unreliable bastards." I mutter under my breath.

"Yep. He was over the moon. Threatened me with knighthood- again." Sherlock responds.

"I'm still waiting for him to admit that a little knowledge of the solar system would have cleared that painting up much quicker." John says and I laugh.

"Didn't do _you_ any good, did it?" Sherlock sasses.

"He isn't the world's only consulting detective, now is he?" I sass in return.

"No he's not." Sherlock says smiling.

"I'm not staying for tea. I'm heading to Sarah's." John announces.

"By the way we need milk." John says/

"I'll get some." Sherlock says, still fixed on the telly.

"And beans." John continues.

"Mm." Is Sherlock's only response.

"If Sherlock forgets I can always pick it up. Aunt Martha always has me running for something." I respond, John gives a nod before heading out.

With John gone, sherlock sweeps to his computer and types something on his blog. He looks up for a moment, then returns to his typing. Once finished, he closes the lid to the laptop with a smirk on his face.

"Delta, you aren't opposed to midnight excursions, are you?" He asks.

"Not at all, Sherlock." I respond and he grins, almost like a madman.

 _ **Hey all!**_

 _ **Still having a lot of fun writing this. Seeing as it's only 9:03 pm you guys get another update tonight! YAY! I'm so excited to get the Moriarty stuff. I'm going to have so much fun with that!**_

 _ **Anyways we broke 400 last night. So thank you all so much for reading and sticking with it! I appreciate any and all feedback and try to respond to most people!**_

 _ **~WaywardSoulCreation**_


	10. Chapter 10

January 2003

I tap my fingers lightly on the artificial woodgrain of the desk. The sleeves of my grey suit jacket pushed up to my elbows. I keep my eyes focused on the photographs laid out in front of me. Many are of bodies heinously displayed, others are of women. All are petite brunettes, shoulder length hair. The eye color varies, some of the women possess vibrant blue or green eyes, others have earthy hazels and brown. The photographs of the women are taken from a distance, but the lens of the camera has to be telephoto because of the level of zoom. All photographs are rather mundane, the women don't know that they're being photographed. The mundane photographs are juxtaposed by the bloody corpses. Many of the now deceased women have makeup smeared across their faces.

"These pictures were sent to a local newspaper, with only a torn piece of paper saying 'Help them :)' crudely written on it." My superior says.

"The envelope had no return address, no fingerprints, no discernable marks."

"All of these women are of the same physical appearance. The suspect has a discernable type."

"He applies or has them apply makeup either because he has been forced to suppress certain aspects of himself, or because of a previous assault at the hands of a woman." I say without looking up.

"He's violent towards them, showing an intense hatred for a woman that looks similar to the ones he's killed." I continue. "They could look similar to his own mother or family member. Perhaps even be what he envisions himself to look like as a woman."

"He can show remorse for his actions, hence the note that clearly indicates that we should 'help' them."

"He is to be considered dangerous. He takes time in choosing his victims. Physically they have to mostly the same, eye colour is a toss up for him. If the eyes aren't exact he removes them."

"All of the women are early to mid twenties. We should look for someone around that age. He's much stronger than these women, as to easily subdue them." I finish, my superior nodding to me.

I keep my hand firmly on the man that is significantly larger than myself as we walk him into the precinct.

"Y'all ain't got no proof that I did anything." He roars, spittle flying everywhere.

"I didn't do nothing to those girls." He roars again as he's directed into an interview room.

"Hudson, how should we approach this one?" My superior almost quizzes me.

"He has an intense hatred for women, give a woman all the power and he should crack in no time." I respond and he claps me on the shoulder.

"Think you can handle it?" He asks and I nod.

I step inside the room, alone, and pull a chair back. Across from me the suspect is cuffed to the table. A few officers are right outside the door, just in case.

"I'm Agent Hudson. Good evening Mr…" I ask, voice trailing off.

"Carter." He responds gruffly.

"Mr. Carter, how _quaint._ " I say and cross my hands.

"You do know that you're entitled to lawyer?" I ask in a slightly condescending voice.

"I don't need one. I didn't do nothing." He responds.

"Anything. You didn't do anything, Mr. Carter." I respond and see a spark of anger in his eyes.

"What's a Brit like you doing in America?" He asks. "You got your own country."

"I'm just as much a citizen as you are, Mr. Carter." I say and slap one of the photos of the deceased women on the table.

"So why did you hurt them?" I ask as he glances down at the picture.

"I've told you that I didn't do nothing to those women." He practically spits at me.

"You didn't do anything to those women." I correctly calmly as he gets angrier.

"Tell me about your mother, Mr. Carter. Did you love her?" I ask.

"My momma was a no good bitch." He spits.

"Why? Did she walk out on you and your father?" I ask.

"My daddy was long gone. My momma liked drugs as much as she liked men." He responds.

"Did these men do anything to you?" I ask.

"I ain't gay, if that's what you're asking." He says, dodging the question.

"You are not gay." I correct again. "Did your mother hurt you, Mr. Carter?" I ask only to be met with silence.

"Or perhaps she tried to keep you from being who you want to be? Do you want to be a woman, Mr. Carter?" I ask, with only more silence.

"Did you kill these women because they were what you wanted to be?"

"Why, Mr. Carter?

"Did your mother not love you enough?" I ask as he suddenly slams his hands on the table.

"My mother was a no good rotten bitch. She got what was comin' to her just like those other women. Oh boy did they beg for me to stop." He snarls at me "Do you beg for mercy? Do you Agent Hudson?" He asks as he attempts to launch himself across the table at me. My chair smashes to the ground as I erupt from it.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Carter." I respond from the doorway. I can hear him roaring more obscenities from behind the door as I turn my back on him.

"YOU'LL GET WHAT'S COMING TO YA AGENT HUDSON. JUST YOU WAIT. YOU'LL BEG FOR MERCY JUS' LIKE THEY DID." He roars as the officers drag him from the interview room. I keep my head up high, trying to shake the chill from my bones at his words.

"He cracked, just like you said." Agent Banner says to me.

"It probably didn't help that I fit his type, either." I say as an afterthought.

"Hudson, good work." My superior tells me with a curt nod.

"Thank you sir." I respond stoically.

 _ **Decided to break up the storyline a little with a chapter about Delta's past! Probably not as good as earlier chapters, but I tried! Any ways hope you all enjoy. Looks like it might be a three chapter night tonight. I have to makeup for the potential trash of this chapter. But I felt like revealing more of Delta to you guys since you know so little about her as of right now. So you have a little bit more information about her. Slight Sherlock vibes from her above lmao but that's why they're gonna work well together!**_

 _ **Anyways, enjoy. See you all in like 1.5 hours!**_

 _ **~WaywardSoulCreation**_


	11. Chapter 11

"Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. Oh, that's what it's all been for, hasn't it? All your little puzzles; making me dance – all to distract me from this." Sherlock says loudly after entering the pool. He holds up the memory stick whilst doing a full rotation.

"Evening." John says, Sherlock stops dead and stares at him in shock. I shake my head in confusion.

 _This isn't right_. I think to myself.

"This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?" John asks and I stare closer at him. His coat is different, bulkier than before.

"John, what the hell…" Sherlock whispers in confusion.

"Bet you never saw this coming." John responds, really rather convincingly as Sherlock begins moving towards him.

John's coat opens to reveal a rather large bomb. Almost immediately a red sniper's dot centers on the bomb.

"Oh…" I say rather airly.

"What ... would you like me ... to make him say ... next?" John the puppet says.

"Gottle o' geer ... gottle o' geer ... gottle o' geer." John says his voice almost cracking. I start to step towards him.

"Ah, ah!" John forcibly chides. "I'll get to you soon Agent Hudson." He finishes and I stop dead, red dots suddenly littering my body.

"Stop it." Sherlock almost pleads.

"Nice touch, this: the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him." John narrates, trying not to cringe from what he hears next. "I can stop John Watson too." John looks to the laser point on his chest. "Stop his heart." He finishes.

"Who are you?" Sherlock says, turning to look in all directions. A door on the far side of the pool opens and a soft Irish voice emerges.

"I gave you my number." It says.

"I thought you might call." The voice continues. The owner of the voice steps out into the open and my stomach drops. It was Jim, Molly's most recent boyfriend. I almost smack myself, but remember the dots that would easily riddle me with holes should I make any movement.

He begins an almost casual stroll at the deep end of the pool, heading towards the three of us.

"Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket …" Jim asks as Sherlock removes the pistol from his pocket. "...or are you pleased to see me?"

"Both." Sherlock responds and points the gun at Jim.

"Jim Moriarty. Hi!" Jim says as if trying to remind Sherlock who he is. "Jim? Jim from the hospital?" Sherlock brings his other hand up to support the one holding the gun as John begins strolling again. He walks along the outer edge of the pool, furthest from the three of us. He loops around, right up behind me.

"Delta Isabelle Hudson, the former FBI agent. I thought you'd be much more… _impressive_." He whispers in my ear. "Tell me, Delta, do you know how to beg?" He whispers lowly, chills rise up my spine as he turns and walks in the direction he came. Sherlock stares at me for a long moment before returning to Jim.

"Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point." Jim says as if he hadn't said a thing to me. Sherlock looks at him quizzically.

"Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty." Jim says in response to the sniper light on John flickering.

"I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see …" He says looking as if he's just noticed something. "...like you!"

""Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?"" Sherlock quotes.

Jim looks impressed, recognizing the tag line.

"Just so." Jim says stopping

"A consulting criminal." Sherlock says. "Brilliant."

"Isn't it? No-one ever gets to me – and no-one ever will." Jim says, almost ecstatic.

"I did." Sherlock states, cocking the pistol.

"You've come the closest. Now you're in my way." Jim says.

"Thank you." Sherlock responds.

"Didn't mean it as a compliment." Jim responds.

"Yes you did."

"Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock …" Jim says with a shrug.

"Daddy's had enough now." He states in a high-pitched sing-song voice.

" I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play." Jim says as he continues his strolling.

He closes his eyes almost as if feeling the strain of this whole situation.

"So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off." He tells Sherlock.

"Although I have loved this – this little game of ours." He says.

"Playing Jim." He says in an artificial London accent.

"Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?" He asks, switching back to his Irish accent.

"People have died." I growl at him.

"That's what people DO!" He screams at me. "YOU OF ALL PEOPLE SHOULD KNOW THAT." He screams almost demonically.

"I will stop you." Sherlock whispers.

"No you won't." He responds, suddenly eerily calm.

"You can talk, Johnny-boy. Go ahead." Jim invites John, when he notices Sherlock looking towards him.

"Take it." Sherlock says, removing one hand from the pistol to hold out the memory stick.

"Huh? Oh, that?" Jim says "The missile plans!" He takes the stick from Sherlock before kissing it, slowly he lowers it.

"Boring." Jim states once again in a sing-song voice.

"I could have got them anywhere." He tells us, tossing the stick into the pool.

"Run!" John suddenly yells, pointing a gun at Jim.

"Oh yeah, John, bright idea. Let me just outrun about a dozen bullets, no big deal." I tell him.

"Good! Very good." Jim says with a laugh.

"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr Moriarty, then we both go up." John tells him, sandwiching the bomb between them.

"Isn't he sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets. " Jim says, condescendingly.

"They're so touchingly loyal. But, oops!" Jim says. "You've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson." He says with a grin looking towards Sherlock. A red light blinks to life in the center of his forehead.

"Gotcha!" Jim says in another sing-song voice as John releases his grip.

"Westwood!" Jim says indignantly, trying to smooth his suit.

" D'you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?" Jim asks.

"Let me guess. I get killed?" Sherlock responds.

"Kill you?" Jim grimaces. "N-no, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway some day. I don't wanna rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No-no-no-no-no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you." He says running his eyes down Sherlock's body.

"I'll burn the heart right out of you." Jim snarls at him.

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one." He says softly.

"But we both know that's not quite true." Jim says with a quick glance in my direction.

"Well, I'd better be off." Jim says looking around as if for an exit route.

"Well, so nice to have had a proper chat." He says.

Sherlock raises the pistol higher before asking.

"What if I shoot you now- right now?" He asks.

"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face. " Jim says, mimicking a surprised look and then grins at Sherlock.

"'Cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock; really I would." He says, screwing up his nose.

"And just a teensy bit disappointed. And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long." He says slowly turning away.

"Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."He says, stepping towards the same door he entered from.

"Catch… you… later." Sherlock says, stepping forward to keep him in sight.

"No you won't." Jim sing-songs as he leaves. The tension releases from my body only to be immediately replaced by anxiety.

Sherlock drops in front of John to remove the vest.

"That, er ... thing that you, er, that you did – that, um ... (he clears his throat) ... you offered to do. That was, um ... good." Sherlock tells him.

"Sorry for snapping at you!" I offer and John shakes his head as the vest drops off.

"Why was he calling you Agent Hudson?" Sherlock asks, staring at me.

"You're intelligent. You tell me, why would he call me Agent Hudson?"

"Unless," I gasp "I was an agent of some sort!"

"But _where._ " Sherlock stresses.

"Where do you think?" I respond. "What? Don't think you can trust me now?"

"You've been toting me along this _whole_ time, without having me figured out." I remind him.

"I know I can trust you, Delta." Sherlock responds. "He'll burn you along with me."

"He can't burn what's already ash, Sherlock." I respond before exiting the pool.

 _ **Suuuuuper long chapter lmao. But it was too intense just to cut off in the middle. Excited to see where this takes us. Some Delta history drama is coming up soon, so might be a few chapters before we return to canon story line! Who knows!**_

 _ **Hope you all enjoyed this first encounter with Moriarty. I'm so pumped for the next chapters bc I can't wait for the Irene Adler stuff too because that is going to be so much to mess with!**_

 _ **Thank you all so much for reading. Should have another chapter out tomorrow! (If not, this triple update should suffice)**_

 _ **~WaywardSoulCreation**_


	12. Chapter 12

I find myself sitting on the couch where the candidates for cases sit, John and Sherlock are in their chairs both staring at me expectantly.

"You can pester me and stare at me all you want, I will not tell you." I respond crossing one leg over the other at the knee.

"You have got to trust us, Delta. Moriarty knows, he will use your past against you." Sherlock stresses and I shrug as nonchalantly as I can, even though my heart begins racing.

"He can _try_ to use it against me all he wants. My past no longer has control over me." I respond, gritting my teeth ever so slightly.

"Clearly it does because the more we discuss it, the more agitated you become." Sherlock points out and I roll my eyes.

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe you're the cause of my agitation?" I ask making eye contact for the first time since they sat me down.

"Whatever you did won't change how we see you." John offers and I can't help but to chuckle rather darkly.

"Oh John, trust me when I say you would _quickly_ retract that statement if you knew." I say, struggling now to keep an even voice.

"Try us." Sherlock challenges.

"I was a soldier for christ sake Delta. Not much can shock me now." John states.

"I'm still not telling you." I say as I sweep up and to the door to their flat.

"You'll have to tell us eventually." John states.

"No I don't John." I say as I practically dart down the stairs.

I'm in the corner of my favorite little coffee shop when my phone buzzes twice in quick succession.

 **You never struck me as a behavioral scientist**

 **SH**

The text reads and I groan.

 **Had to get your older brother involved?**

I respond quickly and lock my screen.

 **Actually, Mrs. Hudson was more than willing to tell me.**

 **SH**

I pause for a moment thinking about my response before just shutting my phone off completely. I look out the slightly foggy window and watch as people pass, off in my own little world.

The sound of a chair scraping across tile floor jolts me from my observation. I glance up and see Sherlock settling across from me.

"Hi." I say softly, still observing the people on the other side of the glass, all just fish unaware of the water.

"Behavioral science doesn't seem like the reason why you're so guarded about your past." Sherlock states.

"No my academic background is not why I'm reluctant to talk about things." I say with an eye roll.

"Masters or doctorate?" Sherlock asks.

"Doctorates." I respond, staring at the wood grain of our table.

"Which fields?"

"Psychology and sociology." I respond and glance up at him.

"Did you have your own practice when you lived in the United States?"

"No, I worked closely with an agency." I respond still trying to be elusive while still giving him some answers.

"FBI or CIA?"

"FBI…" I respond and he nods.

"Moriarty seems to know quite a bit about you." Sherlock states and I roll my eyes.

"He's a professional criminal Sherlock. It's hardly surprising that he could get ahold of my files." I respond.

"He seems to know of something terrible you have done." Sherlock presses. "Which I find hardly believable that you could have done something terrible enough to be used as blackmail."

"Do you really want to know what happened Sherlock?" I ask sharply, "Since it's so unbelievable."

"Sherlock, I was responsibly for the deaths of quite a few people I was close to. All because I was a naive little girl." I state.

"It wasn't your fault."

"Really? You don't even know what happened. How can you claim that? How can you know that what happened wasn't my fault? Don't give me that shit that I 'couldn't have known what would happen'. I was a naive child that was more concerned about pleasing those above me than I was about being right. I led those people to their deaths, Sherlock." I state, voice shaking. "You can say it wasn't my fault until you're blue in the face. That won't change the fact that their blood is on my hands. Just ask their families, Sherlock, they'll exactly how it was my fault."

I stand abruptly and snatch my coat from the back of the chair and glide out the door. I can feel Sherlock's eyes on me as I go.

I stuff my trembling hands into my pockets as I fish out my pack of cigarettes. I had promised Aunt Martha that I would quit, but what's one more person that I've disappointed? The nicotine hits my bloodstream after a couple of drags and the trembling of my hands slowly subsides. I finish the cigarette within a few minutes and begin walking to nowhere in particular. I know that if I go back to Baker Street Sherlock will be waiting for me. I saw the look on his face during my big revelation, if you could even call it that, he had a look of pseudo-concern. He's claimed himself to be a sociopath, a "high-functioning sociopath" and one thing I know for certain is that sociopaths cannot feel empathy.

I dig my phone from my pocket and let it come back on. It takes a few moments to boot up and then a minature flood of texts come it. Most, surprisingly, seem to be from Sherlock.

 **I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push you…**

 **SH**

 **Are you okay?**

 **SH**

 **Delta, answer me.**

 **SH**

 **Delta, it's John, Sherlock is pacing. He says you're not answering texts. If you're okay can you give him a call?**

Groaning inwardly, I hit the little phone icon under Sherlock's contact. It rings about twice before he picks up.

"Delta?" He breathes.

"Yes Sherlock. I'm fine. I shut my phone off when you were pestering me the first time." I respond.

"Where are you?" He asks.

"What's it to you? You're acting as if we're together. I'll be back at Baker Street when I'm ready." I respond.

"You sound almost disgusted. Is the idea of the two of us being together really that abhorrent to you?" He asks and I raise an eyebrow.

"Is there something that you want to tell me Sherlock? Of all things you focus on the brief mention of a relationship as being the source of my disgust." I ask, a light playful tone in my voice.

"I was just asking Delta." He responds and I laugh.

"Sure you were Sherlock." I respond. "Asking to hide the fact that you're desperately in love with the resident fuck up." I say in a completely joking tone.

On the other end, there is nothing but complete silence…

 _ **Nearly three months later the author emerges from the darkness… whoops. Sorry you guys. I was suffering some severe writer's block and well life happened. Anyways enjoy this chapter, we'll be heading back to the main storyline next time. Since its still early I'm going to go ahead and get started on that**_

 _ **bye**_

 _ **WaywardSoulCreation.**_


	13. Chapter 13

***TRIGGER WARNING***

It's dawn, having spent a vast majority of my time with John and Sherlock. It's been mostly silent when John's phone rings. He lifts his head tiredly before answering.

"Yes speaking." He says and listening for a moment.

"Er, what?" He asks confused now before looking up at me, concern riddling his face as he gets to his feet.

"What happened? Is she okay?" He listens for a moment while glancing at me. "Oh my god. RIght, yes. We're on our way." He says before hanging up.

"What is it John?" I ask, my voice betraying my fear.

"Paramedics. Your Aunt has been shot." He tells me delicately as my stomach drops and nausea overwhelms me.

"What? How?" Sherlock asks, actually sounding shocked for once.

"Well, probably one of the killers you've managed to attract. Jesus. _Jesus_. She's dying." John snaps at Sherlock and I can feel the tears beginning.

"We need to go." I say frantically as I grob my jacket and trip over the stool I didn't see. I slam onto the ground with a small "oof" before I frantically scramble up and towards the door.

"Let's go." John says to Sherlock.

"You two go on. I'm busy." He responds,sounding uninterested, and I toss a withering look over my shoulder at him.

"Busy?" John asks incredulously.

"Thinking. I need to think." He responds.

"Oh you need to think, do you? Doesn't my aunt mean anything to you Sherlock. You nearly killed a man once because he laid a finger on her, but she could very well be dying and you're too busy to see her?" I say as the anger a nd fear rip from my chest.

"She's my landlady." Sherlock says with a shrug. The hot tears spill down my cheek, I bite hard on my lip to choke back the sob that wants to rip from my chest.

"She's dying…" I manage to choke out, my voice trailing off into silent sobs as I turn my back on him.

"You machine." John utters as I take the first shaky steps away. Fear and panic riddle my body as the tears pour down my cheeks. I hear John come up behind me but I can't acknowledge him and luckily he stays silent.

John and I erupt from a taxi and towards 221B. There's a bald tattooed workman on a ladder drilling into the wall. My aunt is standing just beyond him, perfectly fine. I scrape the tears from my face as John darts over to her.  
"Oh, God, John! You made me jump!" She says and John looks at her confused.

"But…" He asks.

"Delta? Have you gotten everything sorted with Sherlock and the police then?" She asks.

"Oh my god." I say, horror once again filling my body.

"Taxi!" I yell out as John turns to me.

"We've got to go John." I say as I hurry to a taxi that a man has already hailed.

"Stay here with my aunt."

"Excuse me sir, police business." I say politely as he storms off angrily. I leap in and lean towards the cabby.

"St. Bart's please, if you get me there quickly you'll get a nice tip." I say and lean back in my seat. My leg bounces up and down before I dig my phone from my pocket. I clutch it tightly.

I throw a wad of cash at the cabby as I erupt from the taxi. The phone in my hand begins ringing.

"Hello? I answer, trying to keep my voice level.

"Delta." Sherlock answers.

"Sherlock are you okay? My voice betrays my concern.

"Turn around and walk back the way you came, now." He says, disregarding my question.

"No." I return. "We're coming in."

"Just do what I ask, please." He says, now frantic.

"Where?" I say turning back.

"Stop there." Sherlock states.

"Sherlock?" I ask softly.

"Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop." He says and my body begins trembling.

"Oh god." I say, voice cracking. "Sherlock, please…"

"I ... I ... I can't come down, so we'll ... we'll just have to do it like this." He says and I try to choke back tears.

"What's going on, Sherlock?" I ask, voice strained.

"An apology. It's all true." He says.

"You're lying." I say refusing to believe it.

"Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty. It's all true." He says as tears once again slide down my face.

"Why are you saying this?" I ask softly. "Sherlock…"

"I'm a fake." He says.

"Sherlock, please…" I say again, staring at him.

"The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and John ... in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes. " He says.

"I don't believe you." I say, adamant. "Someone as brilliant as you cannot be a fraud."

"No one is as clever as I made myself seem." He responds.

"You could. Sherlock, you are." I plead.

"Before I met you, I asked Molly all about you. I pretended to be confused by you. I wanted to impress you." He says and I shake my head.

"I still don't believe you."

"It was a trick. Just a magic trick."

"No. Stop it." I say and head towards the hospital entrance.

"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move." He states and I stop.

"Okay." I state.

"Keep your eyes fixed on me." He says once again frantic. "Please, will you do this for me?"

"Do what, Sherlock?" I ask, refusing to believe the obvious.

"This phone call – it's, er ... it's my note. It's what people do, don't they – leave a note?" Sherlock asks.

"No no no no no no. Sherlock please. Please don't do this." I beg.

"Goodbye, Delta." Sherlock says and I see him drop the phone.

"SHERLOCK." I scream as Sherlock tips forward and plummets down. A second later his body hits the ground with a sickening thud. Without thinking, my body carries me forward, my only thought getting to him. People keep getting in my way.

"Please let me through." I say as loud as I can mange. A cyclist comes out of nowhere and collides with me, I get knocked to the asphalt, heading slamming against it. I get back up but can't seem to make it to him, I sink to the ground. Medics come and lift him onto the stretcher and wheel him away.

The cab ride back to Baker street I stay silent.

"Where's Sherlock?" John asks and I stare at him for a moment.

"He wanted me to tell you that he's a fake. Which was a lie. He's not a fake. He can't be a fake. I cannot have been wrong again."

"What're you talking about Delta?" John asks and I suck in a breath.

"I'm his note John." I respond.

"What does that mean? His note?" He asks and I look at him with tear filled eyes.

"His suicide note John. He jumped from the top of St. Barts… I tried to talk him out of it. Tried to let him know that someone still believed but he still did it John. I'm so sorry." I say sobs ripping from my chest. John silently embraces me, but I can feel him crying too.

"I'm sorry."


	14. Chapter 14

I sit staring blankly at the wall, forearms resting on my knees. I can hear Aunt Martha puttering around, probably making tea. I still won't drink it. I can't even remember the last thing I've eaten. This is all too familiar, the flat grey. The numbness, I can no longer feel. I'm sure this would be classified as depression. I prefer failure…

Once again I've failed to save. Failed to help. Maybe if I had realized sooner… Maybe if I hadn't gotten so angry at him…

Maybe I could have saved him…

Everyone tells me that there's nothing I could have done to stop him. But I spent so much time with him. I have a degree in psychology, damn it. I should have known.

And yet here we are…

"Delta, dear, you need to eat something. You can't waste away." Aunt Martha pleads.

"I'm fine." I respond, my voice coming out ragged. Aunt Martha sighs defeatedly and retreats off to the telly. She knows better than to try and push me.

This isn't my first loss…

It's a rather serene day for a funeral. The cemetery is rather void of people, considering that now many think Sherlock to be a fraud. I'm freezing despite the sun and stand silently with my hands in the pockets of my coat. My face is an emotionless mask as I fight back the tears. I bite hard on the inside of my lip, hoping for the distraction of pain. My throat tenses from the choked back sobs, I draw in a shaky breath. Aunt Martha loops her arm through mine in an act of solidarity. She pulls me slightly closer to her and John clamps a hand on my shoulder. He's hurting just as much as I am. Mycroft and Sherlock's parents are somewhere near by. I can't bring myself to look any of them in the eye, considering that I failed to talk their son out of it. I don't need their blame, I have enough of my own.

I step away from John and Aunt Martha, keeping my eyes trained on my feet. Mycroft and his parents approach John and I sulk off before I can hear anything. My feet carry me down an all too familiar path.

The headstones are a little worn from age, there are some weeds growing in front of them. I let myself sink to my knees in front of them. The tears finally come fast, they pour down my cheeks in rivulets. I sob silently for a moment before reaching out a shaking hand and tearing up the weeds. I toss them aside and gently place my fingertips on the headstone nearest to me. I lightly trace the name Stephen Hudson. The tears come faster now.

"Hi Dad." I whisper to the headstone.

"Mum…" It comes out as a choked whisper.

"I'm sorry that I'm a failure." I whisper to them.

"I thought coming home to London would be different. I thought that…. I thought that maybe death was no longer following close behind me."

"I was wrong…. I'm sorry." I say between the choked sobs.

"I can't seem to get it right, can I?"

"First it's the two of you. Then I stupidly led Banner to his death. And now Sherlock." I cry.

"I leave destruction wherever I go."

"Perhaps it's time I left again…. It'd be safer for Aunt Martha…. She has John Watson. She doesn't need me."

I scrub the tears from my cheeks as I bring myself to my feet. A small determination burns with in me. To steal away in the night without anyone noticing. Why would they even notice if I'd suddenly gone? I'm sure they both harbor some resentment towards me. I should have done more….

"Delta!" I hear John call off in the distance as I briskly walk away. I get to Baker Street rather quickly and begin tossing clothes and other necessities into a bag. I spot a pad of paper and pen on the counter.

 _ **Sorry….**_

 _ **-D**_

I scribble quickly before ducking out the door. I pause on the threshold of Baker Street. For a moment I consider turning back. But then I remember what it would mean. Seeing that flat everyday. I cross the threshold and hike the strap of my bag onto my shoulder. I dig my phone from my pocket and find the text thread between myself and John.

 **John, take care of my aunt.**

 **-D**

I send to him before shutting off my phone. I keep my head down as I walk away from Baker Street. I might not ever see this street again…

As the train pulls away from the station, I decide to pull out my phone and turn it back on. Almost instantaneously the texts I missed from John flood in.

 **What do you mean?**

 **Delta where are you?**

 **Delta?**

 **Delta please answer.**

 **Mrs. Hudson is panicking now, please just let us know you're okay.**

To my surprise there is one text from an unknown.

 **Running won't make it stop hurting.**

I stare down at those letters in confusion. I had long since lost my belief in God or another other holy being. No god would be as cruel as to have everyone I'd cared about pass. A feeling nags at the back of my mind. I click into the contact but it still says unknown. My mind flashes back to that Adler woman who had that strange infatuation with Sherlock. On a whim, I respond.

 **Who's this?**

 **-D**

I also finally respond to John letting him know I'm fine and just need some time away. Perhaps Sherlock has rubbed off on me a little too much, the mysterious text has piqued my interest. If it's someone dangerous I should be near Aunt Martha to protect her.

A few minutes later my phone pings, but it's not from John.

 **Paris? I thought you'd go somewhere further.**

 **Who. Are. You.**

 **-D**

I respond again, anger and fear rising up inside me. I drum my fingers lightly on my knee as I wait for a response from this stranger. How do they know I'm going to Paris? What's wrong with Paris?

There's only one person who'd critique where I chose to run away to and I just attended his funeral. I watched him jump from a building.

 **I think you know.**

Is the response that I get. I tilt my head to one side in confusion and in spite of myself I type out the only thought that I have.

 **Sherlock?**

 **-D**

 **The Caféothèque of Paris. I'll be waiting.**

 **SH**

* * *

 **** **Hey guys! Let me know how you feel about Delta knowing that Sherlock faked it. There will be more to come later but I don't know when. There might be another hiatus. Who knows!**

 **Yours,**

 **WaywardSoulCreation**


	15. Chapter 15

_I walk into the cafe that I was told to go to. I glance around, looking for Sherlock, finding him nowhere. I sit quietly at a little corner table, keeping my head down. I stare at my interlaced fingers, emotions running wild. I almost don't hear the soft sound of footsteps as they approach me._

" _Delta Song?" A feminine voice asks in an American and I look up._

" _How do you know me?" I ask looking at this dark haired woman._

" _A gentleman was just in here and said you'd be arriving soon. Odd guy, he showed a picture of you and everything. Told me to give you this." She says and hands me and envelope before walking back to her table. The envelope is heavy and thick. My name is scrawled across it in an unfamiliar handwriting. I lift the flap and pull open the envelope gently. There's a folded sheet of paper and some printed photos. My heart starts pounding in my ears as I pull out the photos. Pictures of myself at Sherlock's service, pictures of me leaving Aunt Martha's flat, pictures of me in mundane things. My face falls as I realize I'm not here to meet Sherlock. I rip the letter from the envelope and open it with trembling hands._

 _ **Delta Hudson,**_

 _ **For someone who claims to be so intelligent, you are incredibly dense. Sherlock Holmes is dead. We all know it. You can try to hold on as much as you want but he's not coming back. There is no one to save you now. Just like you didn't save him. Didn't you see the signs? Didn't you know? You call yourself a doctor and you can't even save the man you love. Did you love him Delta? You seem rather broken up over his death. Did he love you? Can anyone love you? You're almost broken. I'll take great pleasure in being the one to break you completely.**_

 _ **You know that brother you have, the one you don't talk to? The one you're ashamed to face? He's got a lovely little wife and a beautiful daughter. His daugher has such pretty eyes, just like yours. She cried when I took her from her parents.**_

 _ **Time to face your fears Delta.**_

 _ **Can you save her?**_

 _ **R.**_

 _A lock of dark hair tumbles from the letter and I feel almost like vomiting. Abram invited me to the wedding and I never went. I couldn't face my only sibling after what had happened. I wrench from my seat and start scanning for that woman who handed me the letter. I find her staring at me with a dark smirk on her face. I start towards her but she slips out a back door. I launch across the cafe and try to get out that same door. When I finally do, she's about a hundred yards away._

" _Times ticking, Delta. Rhett sends his love." She says, any sign of compassion falling from her face. I launch towards her, ready to throttle her. But before I can take more than a few steps I find myself staring at a gun._

" _Now Delta, let's not get too hasty. Nova is counting on you. Come any closer and dear John will have to bury another one of his friends." She says and I freeze in place as she turns and walks away. She rounds a corner and disappears from sight. My phone starts buzzing in my pocket. With shaking hands I pull it from my pocket. On the screen is my brother's name._

" _Abram…" I say softly, my fear betraying me._

" _Delta! Thank god you've answered." He says sounding haggard and terrified. "Someone's taken Nova. I don't… I don't know what to do. They said they'd kill if I went to the police. You're the only one I know who could handle this."_

" _Abram. First and foremost you need to stay calm. If the kidnappers call, do what they say. Do not get angry. Ava needs you to be strong, Nova needs you to be strong. I promise you I won't let anything happen to your daughter." I tell him firmly._

" _Can that Sherlock man you've been hanging around with help?" Abram asks sounding hopeful._

" _Sherlock Holmes is dead. I can handle it Abram. I promise." I state, still firm in my beliefs._

" _They said it was your fault…." He says and finally and I sigh._

" _It's time for me to face my fears Abram." I tell him. "I will sacrifice my life for Nova if I have to. I refuse to lose anyone else that I care about."_

" _I'd prefer both of you alive, just so you know." He states._

" _I know, but she's more important."_

Two years later.

I sit staring at the wall of the spare room of my brother's home. Downstairs I can hear Nova's laughter and the light giggles of their ten month old daughter Melody. A small smile spreads on my lips just from hearing it. There's a light knock on the door.

"Delta, there's a man downstairs asking for you." Ava says and I stan quickly.

"Where are the girls?" I ask, fear creeping back into me.

"With Abram. He says his name's Sherlock." She tells me as I walk to the closet and pull out a small aluminum bat.

"I'm not falling for that again." I tell Ava concealing the bat behind my long sweater. I walk cautiously down the stairs, Ava close behind me.

"She never mentioned that she had a brother." A deep and all too familiar voice says as I near the bottom of the stairs.

"I think I'm going to be sick."I tell Ava as I recognize Sherlock's voice. I make it to the bottom of the steps and stare at him with crossed arms.

"What the hell is this?" I ask, anxiety becoming anger as I see Sherlock's face for the first time in two years.

"Delta."He says almost happily as he starts to approach me.

"Stay where you are." I say venom in my voice.

"Ava, why don't we take the girls for a walk." Abram says and Ava scurries to him and her daughters. It's dead silent as they leave.

"What. the. Hell." I state, glaring at Sherlock. "I could have sworn I watched commit suicide."

"I faked it."

"Clearly." I reply coldly as he steps closer. "I can't honestly believe you, Sherlock! Do you have any idea what you put John through? My Aunt? Me?"

"I know." He says softly, coming closer.

"You know I blamed myself, right? I thought I should have noticed the signs." I say my voice cracking. "I did some very reckless things." I say as he gently touches my face.

"I'm sorry." He says surprisingly and rather remorsefully.

"I hate you." I say and slam my hand into his chest.

"No you don't."

"Prove it." I state and seconds later his lips crash onto mine.

 _ **I'll have you know that this is the longest running thing I think I've ever written. Also, I'm lazy and couldn't follow the kidnapping across multiple chapters. It's boring without Sherlock, so forgive me. That and I had to finally get to the romance part of this because it's literally been fifteen chapters now and it's the longest I've gone without introducing a romantic relationship ever. Key word is introducing. Sorry for the cliffhanger but I've got some decisions to make. Also if introducing a sibling created a plot hole let me know so I can fix it.**_

 ** _Yours._**

 ** _WaywardSoulCreation_**


	16. Chapter 16

There's a harsh smack sound after my hand connects with his face.

"Don't do that Sherlock. Don't think that you can waltz in here and everything will be fine. That kissing me will make me forget what you did." I practically snarl at him.

"What you did was abhorrent. You could have told us! Did you just not trust us Sherlock?"

"It's not that I didn't trust you. Moriarty was going to kill you and John." He states.

"Two years Sherlock. Two goddamned years you had to say something and you didn't." I remind him.

"I was dismantling Moriarty's crime ring."

"So you were too busy to tell your best friend that you were alive?"

"It would have complicated things."

"Even more so than they are now? Because we are long past complicated." I say and take a step back from him. He reaches out as if to pull me back in.

"Don't Sherlock. Just don't." I say with a voice devoid of emotion.

"You should probably leave." I tell him softly. "John wants me to meet him and his girlfriend tonight. Your flat has remained untouched. I'm sure my aunt will be more than happy to see you." I say as I turn to head back up the stairs. Tears cloud my vision and I stumble about half way up. The door to the guest room is cracked and I can hear the front door slam. A small defeated cry escapes my chest.

I know I wanted him back, I would have given anything. But he didn't trust us, he didn't trust me enough to tell me he was faking it. The days I spent replaying the moment that he jumped over and over in my head. The days that I spent trying to go back and see if there any signs. The days I spent not eating, not sleeping, because every time I closed my eyes I saw him falling. Every time I closed my eyes I heard that sickening crack of a skull hitting the sidewalk.

I scrub the tears that had run down my cheeks off my face as I dig through my suitcase. I pull out a red plaid dress and proceed to get ready. I enter the Landmark Hotel and spot John nearly immediately. The maitre d nearly stops me.

"I'm with the gentleman over there." I respond and he nods.

"Delta, you came." John says happily.

"I told you I would John." I say as I sit across from him, reserving the seat next to him for Mary.

"Aunt Martha told me you're planning to propose? Is that why you wanted me here? As your wing woman?" I ask and he chuckles.

"I figured you could do with some good news, in light of everything." John responds.

"I'm glad you invited me. I'll get pictures for you." I say with a small smile.

"Can I 'elp you with anything, sir?" A waiter with a french accent asks. John doesn't turn around to look at him. I stare at the waiter brow furrowing for a moment. The waiter glances up at me and we make eye contact for a split second. I stifle my groan and begin to dig through my bag as if in search for something.

"Hi, yeah. I'm looking for a bottle of champagne – a good one." John responds.

"Mmm! Well, these are all excellent vintages." The "waiter" says.

"Er, it's not really my area. What do you suggest?"

"Well, you cannot possibly go wrong, but, erm, if you'd like my personal recommendation …"

"Mmm-hm."

" ... this last one on the list is a favourite of mine." The "waiter" continues and John merely nods.

"It is – you might, in fact, say – like a face from ze past." I raise my eyebrows in response that last statement, still rooting through my bag.

"It is familiar, but, er, with the quality of surprise!"

"Well, er, surprise me." John responds and hands the menu off.

"Sorry that took so long."Mary says as she joins us. "Good to see you Delta."

"You as well Mary. But, um, I'm feeling really warm right now. I think I'm going to step outside for a moment. Too many people…" I say rather convincingly as I step from the table to give them privacy. It isn't my place to be there for such an intimate moment, regardless of invitation or not. I pass the now empty maitre d station and step outside. I dig through my bag and produce a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Lighting one, I bring it to my lips and take a deep drag. John would rip into me if he knew I was still smoking. I risk a glance behind me, through the window I see the two of them caught up in their own world. It makes me smile lightly.

I finish the cigarette in a few more pulls and step back inside. I reach the table just as John wrenches himself into a standing position. I can see the tears in his eyes and it almost brings some to mine as well.

"John?: Mary asks, very concerned and glances at me. I stare down at my shoes in much the same way John is staring at the table. But in my case, its in shame.

"John, what is it? What?" Mary asks again.

"Well short version…"Sherlock says and John looks at him "Not dead." I feel my stomach drop, reality finally catching up to me.

"Bit mean, springing it on you like that, I know. Could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. But in my defence, it was very funny." Sherlock says trying to disguise his laughter. I finally look up and glare at him, crossing my arms.

"Two years… Two years… I thought you were dead." John says finally and I glance at Mary apologetically.

"Now, you let me grieve, hmm? How could you do that?"

"How?"

"Wait – before you do anything that you might regret …" Sherlock says and John and I groan simultaneously. "... um, one question. Just let me ask one question. Um …"

"Are you really going to keep that?" Sherlock asks in reference to John's mustache. Mary lets out as surprised laugh. Suddenly John launches himself at Sherlock with the intention to throttle him. Mary, myself, and a few waiters spring into action pulling John off Sherlock. We manage to get them separated as the manager comes out.

"Don't worry, we're on our way out." I offer gesturing for John and Mary to leave first before I follow and Sherlock trails behind.

We find ourselves at a small cafe. John and Mary sit next to each other forcing me to sit next to Sherlock. He sits in his coat, fingers steepled as I stare blankly at the wall above Mary's head.

" You know, for a genius you can be remarkably thick." John says as I tune back in finally.

"What?" Sherlock asks.

"I don't care how you did it. I want to know why. I'm nearly certain that Delta would love that explanation too." John states and the trio glances at me.

"Perhaps from a psychology standpoint." I offer without looking at any of them.

"Do you know what it did to her, Sherlock?" John says and I look at him in terror.

"John, please, it doesn't matter." I state.

"You nearly died Delta." John reminds me.

"As I've told you before it wasn't like that." I state returning my attention to the wall.

"What do you mean 'nearly died'?" Sherlock asks and I shake my head.

"It's not important."

"She ran blindly into danger. A criminal kidnapped her niece, she willingly exchanged places. The man nearly tortured her to death."

"It was my niece, John. I couldn't involve police, it was me or her." I remind him quietly sa Sherlock reaches for my hand.

"Don't touch me Sherlock, please." I state. "Anyways we were talking about you. Why? Why'd you fake your own death?"

"Because Moriarty had to be stopped." He responds and I chuckle almost darkly.

"That's not what I meant. That part is understandable."

"It was Mycroft's idea." Sherlock says finally.

"So he knew. Who else?" I ask, turning to face him.

"A couple of others." He responds, trying to be nonchalant.

"Who." I demand, no longer phrasing it as a question.

"Molly." Sherlock says and looks away.

"Molly, as in Molly Hooper? My best friend who initially introduced me to you?" I ask angrily.

"Molly and some of my homeless network, that's all."

"So Molly Hooper and a hundred tramps." John says.

"No, twenty-five at most." Sherlock responds and John launches at him. Once again we get asked to leave and find ourselves at a kebab shop. Sherlock holds a napkin to his bleeding lip.

"So it's not a joke? You're really keeping it?" Sherlock asks.

"Yes." John says and it almost feels like old times.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, Mary likes it."

"Mmmmmm, no she doesn't." Sherlock responds.

"She does."

"She doesn't." John glances at Mary and then does a double take. She makes a few apologetic noises and I choke back my laughter.

"Oh!" John says now covering the mustache. "Brilliant." He finishes and I lay my head on the table trying to mask my laughter.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know how to tell you."

"Oh this is charming. I've really missed this." John says in heavy sarcasm. I can no longer hold my laughter. It erupts surprisingly quiet, I sit upright and cover my face.

"I'm sorry John. I don't mean to laugh but my god. It's just so easy to fall back to the way things were." I state with my hands still over my face. "Well almost… considering the fact that Sherlock kissed me."

"He did what?" John asks and I keep my hands over my face.

"Kissed me, John." I reply, "I slapped him but it does complicate things, doesn't it?"

"The two of you need to sort that out, John let's take a walk and let these two talk it out." Mary offers.

"Mary you don't have to do that. There's nothing to discuss. It was an emotionally fueled kiss, it probably won't happen again." I respond but they still get up.

"So…" I say awkwardly when it becomes the two of us, refusing to look at him.

"O know you used to have feeling for me." Sherlock states.

"I knew that." I respond. "What about you? Considering you're a high functioning sociopath."

"I still do…" He states almost awkwardly.

"I'm not saying anything is certain between us, Sherlock. As easy as it is to fall back into things, a true relationship would be different. Something we have to work towards."

"I understand."

"I'm willing to work, Sherlock. Are you?" I ask.

"Of course I am." Sherlock tells me and takes my hand.

"We're going about this the normal way. Regular dates. No dragging me off to the morgue. We will be normal about this, even if you and I are far from it." I tell him and glance sideways at him.

"Anything you want." He says into my hair as he kisses the side of my head.


	17. Chapter 17

_Sorry for the over two month hiatus. I was distracted by a couple other things that I had started as well as college. However, I am returning to this with a new chapter and will try to update as regularly as I can, given that I find the time with everything else that is going on. I apologize in advance for the amount of time this has taken._

My phone buzzes twice right next to my head as I stare up at the ceiling. One hand lays on my chest, the light blanket wrapped around my legs. A moment later, my phone buzzes twice again, followed by two more quick buzzes. I groan as I lift myself up and grab my phone. Three texts all in quick succession sit on my locked phone screen. I swing my feet to the floor as goosebumps engulf my skin as the cool floor presses against my feet. I stretch as I stand as the early morning light filters through my curtains. I get dressed in the semi-darkness, and creep through my Aunt's flat. I shut the door as quietly as I can manage, hoping to not disturb 221B, to disturb Sherlock. I step towards the door and barely get it open when I hear his voice.

"Going somewhere?" Sherlock says from the top of the stair outside his flat.

"My assistance was requested." I say with a light shrug as I let the door swing shut.

"Meet me for dinner?" He asks and I suppress a chuckle.

"Tell me where and when and I'll be there. I promise." I say trying to push down my fear as I step backwards through the door.

I pull my hood over my head and turn it downwards as I walk. I shove my hands deep into my pockets trying to disregard what I might be getting myself into. I am avoiding Sherlock, well avoiding giving him details about where I am going. Although, I am nearly certain he already knows what I am up to or is more than likely following me or has someone from his homeless network following me. I step inside the small antique store and put my hood down. I glance at the person at the register and my eyes linger for a moment as I scan them. I pick up a small music box and I falter for a moment at it's familiarity.

 _I can see my mother's pale arms wrapped around me, warm and tight. My mother twists the key on the music box and then lifts the lid. A small silver angel emerges from the box, in front of a night sky. Clair de lune filters out of the box as Mum hums along with it, hums into my hair. I'm small again safe._

" _Your grandmother gave this to me when I became an adult, when you become one you'll get it to." She tells me softly, in her warm voice. My small hands reach out and touches the box as the music continues. The front door opens to reveal my dad and my older brother Abram. Mum places the music box on the table in front of us before standing with me still in her arms. For a moment we are happy._

"Can I help you with something?" The woman behind the counter asks and I falter again.

"Just looking, thank you." I reply quietly as I set the music box back down. I pause for a moment.

"Actually I'm looking for a intricate gold bracelet with a white cameo. It has some rubies inlaid as well as some smaller green stones. Oddly specific, I know." I say with a fake chuckle.

"My best friend is getting married and her grandmother had one. Her grandmother has since passed and I thought I'd surprise with a little piece of her grandmother for her big day." I lie feigning excitement.

"We actually just got one in." She tells me as motions me towards the counter. I step towards and see the exact bracelet I was sent pictures of.

"May I?" I ask quietly as she places it in my hand. I tilt it and find the engraving as I knew I would and look at the woman behind the counter.

"Do you know where this came from?" I ask and look her directly in the eyes.

"I don't know." She says and breaks my eye contact.

"Are you certain about that?" I ask, dropping the act and I can see her getting more and more anxious.

"Because here's what I do know, this bracelet is stolen property. Stolen off of a murdered woman." I snarl at her.

"Now, you can tell me who sold you this bracelet or I will bring my friends from Scotland Yard into your store and we will tear this place apart. Imagine how unfortunate it would be if we managed to locate other stolen property, because I imagine this isn't the only thing that you have in your store."

"He was a tall, shifty guy, wouldn't make eye contact." She starts.

"His name. Do you have records? Security cameras?" I ask and she nods rapidly before producing a thick binder.

"I started keeping records, because you're right. We get a lot of stolen property. Please don't report me." She begs as she flips to the page. I read the name and the address and something pricks at the back of my neck. Something tells me that this isn't right. I walk back to Aunt Martha's flats and sit on the steps. I stand after a moment and begin pacing, back and forth, back and forth. My eyes fall on the car that I got and haven't used in weeks. I stand at the door, hand on the door handle.

"Something about this isn't adding up." I say in a sing song whisper.

"I should tell Sherlock. I should get help." I mutter as I pull the door open and slide into the driver's seat.

"I should tell Sherlock." I mutter again as I start the engine. I pull away from the curb and dig my phone from my pocket.

I begin to pull through the intersection but then suddenly my car jolts and I can feel myself being flung through the air. My chest slams against the steering wheel as the glass from the windscreen pierces my face. My car tumbles three times before rocking to a stop. I dangle upside down for a moment before my world fades to black.


	18. Chapter 18

The faint sound of beeping brings me back to the waking world. The smell of over sterilization invades my nostrils as the fog slowly lifts from my mind. I groan without really realizing and an unfamiliar face pokes their head in the door.

"So you're finally awake. You had a lot of us scared for a while." Her Irish voice says with complete sincerity.

"Can I make a call?" I ask in a voice raspy from lack of use.

"'Course you can. This isn't a prison. Though we haven't got your name so we can call someone for you. Somebody somewhere is probably worried sick about you." She responds and I nod.

"That's who I'll be calling Where am I at?" I ask as I pick up the heavy receiver.

"St. Bart's." The nurse responds and I nod once.

"Is Molly Hooper in today?" I ask as I dial Aunt Martha's number.

"I think so." The nurse responds.

"If you see her can you send her my way?" I ask as the phone begins to ring out. The nurse nods in agreement before leaving me to my call.

"Hello?" Aunt Martha's voice says from the other end. She sounds fatigued.

"Aunt Martha, it's me, Delta." I tell her, my voice still sounding like I've gotten lung cancer.

"Delta?!" She asks relief and excitement flooding her voice.

"Hold on a moment." She says and I can hear her door getting pulled open.

"JOHN! SHERLOCK!" She calls out before returning to the phone.

"Where are you?" She asks and I purse my lips for a moment.

"St. Bart's." I respond and Aunt Martha gasps loudly.

"Are you alright Delta?" She asks, the concern once again riddling her voice.

"Yes and no. I don't know the extent of my injuries but I am alive." I respond before hearing John's voice in the background.

"What is it?" He says sounding as confused as ever.

"It's Delta. She's in the hospital" Aunt Martha tells him.

"Aunt Martha, put me on speaker." I call into the phone and can hear shuffling for a moment.

"Hello boys." I say and can hear my voice echo slightly.

"Are you okay?" John asks.

"For the most part. A doctor hasn't been in to see me yet. I assume I was in a coma for a bit there." I respond as I look over my body. I grimace noticing my left leg in a cast and then reach for my face.

"I've got a broken leg and some lacerations on my face. Everything else I'm not sure of." I tell John and then notice Sherlock being incredibly silent.

"Is Sherlock there?" I ask curiosity poisoning my voice.

"He's just left." John says and I let out a sigh.

"Where could he possibly be going?" I ask as I lean back onto the pillows.

"If not to you, then he's probably on a case." John responds and I sigh again.

"Well someone needs to come see me soon before I go absolutely insane from the boredom." I remark and I can hear Aunt Martha chuckle.

In fifteen minutes time, John, Mary, and Aunt Martha have crammed themselves into my room.

"You crashed your car?" Mary asks in disbelief.

"I'm just as shocked as you are Mary. I'm normally a very good driver."

"I can't believe Sherlock isn't here. He nearly went mad when no one could find you." John remarks.

"What's odd is that I was right under everyone's noses. Of course it's not out of character for me to disappear to begin with…." I say allowing my voice to trail into nothingness.

"I should probably stop dropping off the face of the planet, might make things easier." I muse mostly to myself before I throw off the blankets.

"What're you doing?" John asks suddenly, as if he's about to stop.

"Getting ready to leave John. I hate hospitals." I remark, the last phrase coming out in a deadpan tone.

"You haven't been discharged yet." Mary remarks.

"I can leave against medical advice, can't I?" I ask as I swing my legs to the floor. I stumble a few steps, my depth perception even worse than usual. Three hands shoot out to balance me, but I wave them away.

"Someone has to hunt down Sherlock anyways." I announce and then hold my hand out to John.

"Can I borrow your phone?" I ask politely. " I oh so want to play a joke on Sherlock but I'm afraid he might take it too seriously."

"What were you going to do to him, dear?" Aunt Martha asks.

"Mostly tell him that I passed but I figured it was too soon for jokes like that." I respond with a shrug.

"I should also call my brother." I remark mostly to myself as I stretch my tightened muscles. John places his phone in my hand and I scroll through until I find Sherlock's number. I dial through and only receive voicemail.

"Ignoring your best friend, are you? Whenever you're willing to grace us with your presence we'll be at Baker Street." I leave the message before handing John his phone back. Suddenly the rather attractive doctor, a detail I hadn't quite noticed, pokes his head in.

"I take it you're leaving?" He asks and I nod.

"I have places to be good doctor."

"I'll get the forms ready." He responds and ducks back out.

In just over an hour's time I find myself settled into Aunt Martha's couch, a cup of tea in hand. The pain finally hits me and my entire body is sore.

"I don't know what they give you in hospitals, but I didn't feel a damned thing until about ten minutes ago." I announce as Aunt Martha gives me a panicked look.

"I might have some painkillers around here somewhere." Aunt Martha says and hurries off to find them. I watch Mary as she brushes some hair from her face and I notice the ring on her finger. My entire face lights up.

"So he finally did it?" I ask in reference to her ring.

"He finally did." She responds happily before a look of confusion crosses her face.

"Sherlock still isn't here." She says before the sound of the door smacking open erupts behind us.

"You might've spoken too soon." I remark as I take a sip of my tea.

"Sherlock she's on the couch." Aunt Martha announces and I stick a hand into the air.

"Please do not jump on me, I am in a great deal of pain." I announce earnestly as Sherlock sits next to me very gently.

"Did you hear the good news Sherlock? There's going to be a wedding!" I tell him unable to hide my excitement and I flash a smile to Mary.

"What happened?" He asks, ignoring my question.

"You're the detective Sherlock, I'm sure that you already know." I tell him and refrain from rolling my eyes.

"If you must hear me say it, I crashed my car." I tell him now exasperated.

"How is your vision?" He asks and I shrug.

"Same as it's always been, maybe even a touch fuzzier but nothing abnormal." I respond quietly as to not alarm Aunt Martha.

"So other than the obvious," I remark gesturing towards Mary. "What have I missed?"

"Sherlock nearly lost his mind." John offers and I roll my eyes.

"I could tell John. I've got a doctorate in psychology, remember? I meant anything interesting."

"There was this odd man who came looking for you." Aunt Martha announces suddenly.

"He was Irish sounding, said he needed your help. He sounded like it would be a matter of life and death and then he flashed me his badge." I let out a loud sigh.

"Of course this would be happening. You can't leave and not be sucked back in eventually." I mutter to myself and drag myself painfully off of the couch.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asks with a hint of panic in his voice.

"I've got a call to return." I respond and then wave him away.

I step out into the hall outside of Aunt Martha's flat, her mobile phone clutched in my hand. I suck in a deep breath before dialing an all too familiar number. It rings twice before the line is picked up.

"Hello?" His voice says from the other end.

"Kieran, it's me Delta. I believe you made a house call to my Aunt?" I ask accusingly.

"I also stopped at your brother's." He responds, as much of a dick as ever.

"What is it that you need?" I respond curtly.

"Same old Delta always cutting to the chase. Someone's copying old cases of yours." He tells me and I stifle a groan.

"And I suppose you'd like my help in apprehending the person who's doing this?"

"Only if you can spare the time love." He responds sarcastically.

"I'll have to talk it over with my partner, but I'm sure he and I would be glad to help." I respond, stressing the word partner to get my point across.

"Hope to see you soon." He says and I hang up without another word. I limp back into the flat and three heads turn to stare at me.

"Who did you call?" John asks.

"An old colleague. We should probably discuss this upstairs." I say before motioning them to follow me.

When inside of 221B, Mary helps me down onto the couch. Painfully, I cross one leg over the other and weave my fingers together. I sit in silence for a moment, formulating how I am going to introduce this.

"Do either of you recall the series of murders that occurred over in Manchester? They happened about seven years ago, all girls with blonde hair, all about my height? Clear pattern?" I ask and Mary's face distorts in a look of confusion.

"The one where the investigators used the media to lure the murderer out?" John asks and I nod.

"I was part of the team that had found him. I interrogated him, _he_ was a sociopath through and through." I tell them. "That was the last case I worked as a profiler. But now I'm being called back."

"Why?" Sherlock asks as he studies me.

"Someone's trying to get my attention."


	19. Chapter 19

"What do you mean someone is trying to get your attention?" John asks sounding fearful.

"Someone is killing people based upon the cases that I've worked on." I tell him and then look to Sherlock.

"Have you got anything that you're working on?" I ask, "Because I'm going to need your help with this."

"Are you sure you should be doing something like this so soon after your accident?" Mary asks before Sherlock can respond.

"Whoever is doing this isn't going to wait for me to recover. The longer that I take to find them means that more people will die." I tell her calmly.

"So this is what you did then? Profiled serial killers?" John asks and I shake my head no.

"Not just serial killers, John. Career criminals as well. I usually only helped when they were still investigating the crimes in order to find the perpetrators. Occasionally I would be called to do a profile on someone they had already apprehended."

The phone that I hadn't returned to Aunt Martha begins ringing and I dig it out.

"Hello?"

"Delta if you're going to come you had better get here soon. There's been another murder." Kieran announces from the other end.

"I'm coming, I'm leaving soon." I tell him and then hang up.

"I haven't got much time for you to consider this Sherlock. Another person's just been killed." I say as I stand slowly.

"If you're coming meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes." I tell Sherlock and then turn to John.

"I know this is strange but I need you stay with my aunt, whoever is doing this might come after her." I tell her earnestly and he nods in response.

"Of course." He says.

"Thank you John." I say as I exit the flat.

Fifteen minutes tick by in a blur and before I know it I find myself stepping onto the sidewalk, preparing to hail a taxi. Just as I lift my hand I hear Sherlock's voice.

"You weren't going to leave without me, were you?" He asks as a cab pulls up in front of us.

"I did consider it for a moment because we don't have a lot of time." I reply honestly.

"You asked for my help." He responds.

"I asked for your help as a professional, not because we are in a relationship." I reply and he smirks.

"I'm still the first person you thought of." He responds as we climb inside.

"I couldn't bring John, he wouldn't know what he was doing once we got there. And I can't put Mary at that kind of risk." I tell him.

"And even if we weren't together you'd be the first person I thought of because you understand this in the same way that I do." I tell him as I settle into my seat.

I step beneath the police tape, hands deep in my pockets.

"Look who decided to grace us with their presence." Kieran's smug face says when I get close enough.

"I did not come for your benefit Kieran. What have you got for me?" I ask as I purse my lips.

"Twenty seven year old woman. Dark hair, blunt force trauma to the back of her head, markings from some sort of bindings on her wrists and ankles." He says and then notices Sherlock.

"Who's he?" He asks.

"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock responds and steps forward, acting oddly possessive. Ignoring the two of them I step towards the young woman's body. I cock my head to the side when I notice her mouth is partially open. I turn to the nearest person.

"I need gloves." I tell them and they slap a pair into my hands. After sliding them on, I gently move the woman's chin and pull out the object in her mouth. It's a folded up piece of paper, on expensive cardstock.

 _There once was a girl who ran away_

 _Not knowing her demons were here to stay_

 _All i wanted was for her to come out to play_

 _But this girl ignored me_

 _But soon she will see_

 _What a terrifying demon that I can be_

I grimace at the poem before returning to a standing position.

"Do we have any idea who she is?" I ask Kieran and he shakes his head no.

"What's in your hand?" He ask.

"A poem." I say and hold it out for the two boys to read.

"Any idea who it could be about?" Kieran asks rather stupidly.

"Unless our Jane Doe has a history of running away from home, I'd be willing to place a wager that this was left for me." I tell Kieran.

"I'm going to need copies of the other cases, see if there are any other patterns other than myself emerging.

I'm reading over the cases by the dim light of the lamp when Sherlock blindsides me with a rather odd question.

"Did you and Keiran have a relationship?" He asks and I glance up from the report I'm reading.

"He wanted to, made it quite obvious at times but I never took an interest in him. Why?" I respond as I adjust my glasses.

"Because he still has a thing for you." He tells me and I roll my eyes.

"Don't tell me you're jealous Sherlock." I respond as I set the papers down on the desk in front of me. I cock my head to the side and look over at him.

"I'm not jealous I just wanted to confirm that it was as obvious to you as it was to me." He responds.

"Whatever you say Sherlock." I tell him as I move the file to a different pile. I rip my glasses from my face and drop them on the desk before letting out a loud groan.

"This is frustrating. The only connection is me. That doesn't get us very far." I say and something clicks.

"All of the crimes have been against women." I announce and Sherlock looks at me quizzically.

"What has that got to do with anything?" He asks, sounding ever so slightly confused.

"Realistically speaking, we'd have to be looking for a man. A man large enough to overpower women, but someone who comes off as trustworthy. The sheer amount of damage that has occurred to these women means that either it's an incredibly strong woman, which is doubtful. Or a man, someone who feels as if they've been scorned." I tell him and then look at the poem that was left in the most recent victim's mouth.

"It's expensive cardstock, but the handwriting more than likely belongs to a man. Referring to me as a girl also means that they see me as lesser than they are, and that they feel like by degrading me and calling me a girl they are making themselves better. Obviously they feel ignored by me." I tell him as I lean back in the chair.

"But who could that someone be?" I muse aloud.

"Kieran." Sherlock says gruffly and I sit up and stare at him.

"Explain." I tell him.

"You said it was someone trying to get your attention, someone who feels ignored. Kieran has made not so subtle passes at you and you ignore him. The day he calls you and you tell him that you're bringing me along another girl dies." He says and I blink a few times processing this.

"Some of these women were victimized in ways that were never released to the public. So if not Kieran, then at the very least it's someone that has access to the case reports." I tell him, mulling everything over.

"You understand that we can't outright accuse him. He's linked to these just like I am, he could just as easily shift the blame onto me." I tell Sherlock.

"But you've got alibis, you've been with me or your Aunt."

"A proper defense attorney would say that the two of you would lie for me."

"You said they'd been overpowered." He points out and I look at him and frown.

"I've had extensive combat training. If I had really wanted to, I could bring you to your knees in a matter of seconds." I tell him, "We have to wait this out. We're here, if it's actually him he knows I'm good enough at what I do to figure it out relatively quickly. What he wouldn't be anticipating is that between the two of us we've already figured it out. We need to bide our time and make sure that it was him." I tell him as my new phone pings.

"We can cross Kieran off our list." I tell him as I look up from my phone.

"He was just found dead." I announce as I grab my coat.

The two of us arrive in a dark alleyway behind a bar that Kieran and I would frequent when I worked in this area. My stomach churns when I walk up on his body. I grimace at the pool of coagulated blood around him. Carved into his back is the word liar. I can feel Sherlock place his hand on the small off my back, part of his hands presses the butt of my gun against my skin.

"No one heard a thing." An unfamiliar agent says as he walks up to me.

"Someone stumbled out of the bar and found him like this."

"Who might you be?" I ask and his face falls.

"Agent Jeffries. I worked with you on your last case here." He says and it clicks.

"Sorry agent, I've met a lot of people over the years. Have you got the time by any chance?" I ask as he brings up his right hand to check the time. I study him for a moment before noticing the blood that was staining the white cuff of his sleeve. Suddenly, I notice the lack of officers in the area for a recent murder.

"It's nearly midnight." He says as I take a step away from him and Sherlock, but ensuring that I keep Sherlock behind me. Slowly I move my hand behind my back, in one fluid movement I pull the gun from it's holster and aim it at Jeffries' chest.

"Now here's the one issue that I have." I say as he raises his hands up. "I've never worked with an agent named Jeffries."

"Delta." Sherlock says in a warning tone.

"Did you not notice the blood on his sleeve? The general lack of officers for a recent murder?" I respond to him as I keep my gun pointed at Jeffries.

"You ignored me for so long!" He roars at me, "When all I wanted was to love you. You were my perfect woman. Then you had to leave, I thought you had dropped off the radar liked you'd alway joked. Then I see you come up on the news next to that fraud." He says and gestures towards Sherlock. "I could see the way he looked at you."

"Can't you see that I did this for you Delta? All of this. Kieran was in there _lying_ about having slept with you. I couldn't let him defile you like that. Only for you to show up with _him_. After he had hurt you, after he faked his death." Jeffries says and then suddenly launches himself at me. Without thinking, I fire my gun into his shoulder but that doesn't stop him. I shot him again, this time in the chest and he crumples to the ground. He lets out a final gurgling breath and I put my gun on the ground.

"Sherlock, call the police. This is going to look very bad for me." I tell him as he brings out his phone.

In a few moments the sound of a parade of feet near us. Officers with their guns drawn flood into the alley. Their guns pointed at me. My hands go up in the air immediately.

"I'm former Agent Hudson. The man who was shot is Agent Jeffries the presumed killer of the other man Agent Kieran Mars."


End file.
